Bubbline Twilight
by Nyannya96
Summary: When seventeen-year-old Bonnie leaves Phoenix to live with her father in Forks, Washington, she meets an exquisitely handsome girl at school for whom she feels an overwhelming attraction and who she comes to realize is not wholly human.
1. First Sight

I do not own the story, nor the characters on this fanfic, this is just for fans and there's no money I can win with this.

The original story is Stephenie Meyer's, the characters are from Adventure Time.

Sumary

When seventeen-year-old Bonnie leaves Phoenix to live with her father in Forks, Washington, she meets an exquisitely handsome girl at school for whom she feels an overwhelming attraction and who she comes to realize is not wholly human.

Preface

I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.

1\. First Sight

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Gummy, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Bonnie," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Gunter now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I _want_ to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Gummy I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me." But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom." She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Gummy, though, I was a little worried about.

Gummy had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with him. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

He was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Dad is Police Chief Gum to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Gummy gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bonnie," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Bubble?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Gummy to his face.

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car _for you"_ as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Hugwo Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," he prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Dad continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, he's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Gu — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Bon, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

 _The thing_ , I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." he peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Dad wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth — or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green — an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Gummy's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," he said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Dad had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Dad. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about him is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together.

I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I _should_ be tan, sporty, blond — a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty — it was very clear, almost translucent-looking — but it all depended on color. I had no color here.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant _whooshing_ of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Dad was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. He left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three un-matching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Gummy and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do to get him to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Gummy had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Hugwo or Gummy had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Bonnibel Bubble-Gum," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Gummy, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner.

I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door. The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Bonnibel Bubble-Gum, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Bonnie," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Neptr," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," I told him.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Neptr walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Neptr, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the five, one boy was big — muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was sparky golden, gently waving to the middle of her back and letting different shades of colors like a rainbow in its way. The short girl was pixie-like, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a strong red, cropped short and pointing in every direction. The last was lanky, less bulky, tomboyish girl with untidy, ebony-colored hair. She was more girlish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes — purplish, bruise like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular.

But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful. Maybe the perfect blondie, or the ebony-haired girl.

They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are _they_?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably, from my tone — suddenly she looked at her, the thinner one, the girlish one, the youngest, perhaps. She looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then her dark eyes flickered to mine.

She looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, her face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called her name, and she'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Marceline and Jake Abadeer, and Lady and Finn Humane. The one who left was Flame Abadeer; they all live together with Dr. Abadeer and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful girl, who was looking at her tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. Her mouth was moving very quickly, her perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt she was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Fiona, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named like that in my History class back home.

"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" she agreed with another giggle. "They're all _together_ though — Jake and Lady, and Finn and Flame, I mean. And they _live_ together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Abadeers?" I asked. "They don't look related…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Abadeer is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Humane _are_ brother and sister, twins — the blondes — and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Finn and Lady are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Abadeer since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Fiona admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Abadeer can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Abadeers, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in her expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that her glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boyish girl with the pitch-black hair?" I asked. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye, and she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today — she had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

"That's Marceline. She's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. She doesn't date. Apparently none of the boys or girls here are good-looking enough for her." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when she'd turned her down.

I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at her again. Her face was turned away, but I thought her cheek appeared lifted, as if she were smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful — even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Fiona and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was HDP, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too.

When we entered the classroom, HDP went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Marceline Abadeer by her unusual skin, sitting next to that single open seat.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching her surreptitiously. Just as I passed, she suddenly went rigid in her seat. She stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on her face — it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I'd noticed that her eyes were black — coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by _her_ , bewildered by the antagonistic stare she'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. HShe was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange girl next to me. During the whole class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see her hand on her left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under her pale skin. This, too, she never relaxed. She had the long sleeves of her white shirt pushed up to her elbows, and her forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath her light skin. She wasn't nearly as slight as she'd looked next to her burly brother.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she wasn't breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this her normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Fiona's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. She didn't know me from Eve.

I peeked up at her one more time, and regretted it. She was glaring down at me again, her black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from her, shrinking against my chair, the phrase _if looks could kill_ suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Marceline

Abadeer was out of her seat. Fluidly she rose — she was much taller than I'd thought — her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after her. She was so mean. It wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

"Aren't you Bonnibel Bubble-Gum?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Bonnie," I corrected him, with a smile.

"I'm Marshall."

"Hi, Marshall."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer — he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Marceline Abadeer with a pencil or what? I've never seen her act like that."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that _wasn't_ Marceline Abadeer's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yes," he said. "She looked like she was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to her."

"She's a weird one." Marshall lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained— and inflicted — playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Marceline Abadeer stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled ebony hair. She didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

She was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time — any other time.

I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Marceline Abadeer's back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me — her face was absurdly good looking — with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. She turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," she said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And she turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Gummy's house, fighting tears the whole way there.


	2. Open Book

2\. Open Book

The next day was better… and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Marshall came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Neptr glaring at him all the while; that was nattering. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Marshall, Neptr, Fiona, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Marceline Abadeer wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing her bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Fiona — trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her, and failing entirely — I saw that her four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and she was not with them.

Marshall intercepted us and steered us to his table. Fiona seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment she would arrive. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came, and prove my suspicions false.

She didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn't showed. Marshall, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Marceline Abadeer wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Marshall followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I was going to have to do something about Marshall, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice dealing with overly friendly boys.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Marceline was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason she wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. I hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.

Last night I'd discovered that Gummy couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Abadeers and the Humane twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before — I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.

No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Gummy wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp hair up into a pony-tail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages.

" _Bonnie_ ," my mom wrote…

 _Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Gunter says hi. Mom._

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

" _Bonnie_ ," she wrote…

 _Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom._

The last was from this morning.

 _Bonnibel,_

 _If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Gummy._

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

 _Mom,_

 _Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash._

 _Bonnie._

I sent that, and began again.

 _Mom,_

 _Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch._

 _Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday._

 _Gummy bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me._

 _I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you._

 _Bonnie._

I had decided to read _Wuthering Heights_ — the novel we were currently studying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Gummy came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Bonnie?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Bon ."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Fiona. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Marshall, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Marshall Lee. Nice kid — nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Abadeer family?" I asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Abadeer's family? Sure. Dr. Abadeer's a great man."

"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Gummy surprised me by looking angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Abadeer is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Gummy make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Gummy said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.

Marceline Abadeer didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Abadeers entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered on a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Marshall was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Marceline would be there. For all I knew, she had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Gummy, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Marshall took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on _Wuthering Heights_. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Marshall said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ew." Snow. There went my good day.

He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"No. That means it's too cold for rain. "Obviously." Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

Marshall laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Neptr, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the wrong direction for his next class. Marshall apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

He just nodded, his eyes on Neptr's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the New Year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain — until it melted in your socks.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Fiona after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Fiona thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Marshall caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting the spikes in his hair. He and Fiona were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Fiona pulled on my arm.

"Hello? Bonnie? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Bonnie?" Marshall asked Fiona.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Fiona asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor.

I waited for them to _get_ their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Marshall asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling.

I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I _should_ play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Abadeer family's table. If she was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.

I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.

They were laughing. Marceline, Finn, and Jake all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Flame and Lady were leaning away as Jake shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Marceline the most carefully. Her skin was less pale, I decided — flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Bonnie, what are you staring at?" Fiona intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, her eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that she didn't look harsh or unfriendly as she had the last time I'd seen her. She looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Marceline Abadeer is staring at you," Fiona giggled in my ear.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should she be?"

"I don't think she likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm.

"The Abadeers don't like anybody…well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her," I hissed.

She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted.

Marshall interrupted us then — he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Fiona agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Marshall left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since she didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to her again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Marshall as usual — he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Marshall kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, she looked like she'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. Her dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her flawless lips. But her eyes were careful.

"My name is Marceline Abadeer," she continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bonnie Bubble-Gum."

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; she was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.

She laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Bonnie?"

She seemed confused. "Do you prefer Bonnibel?"

"No, I like Bonnie," I said. "But I think Gummy — I mean my dad — must call me Bonnibel behind my back — that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.

"Oh." She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," he commanded.

"You go first, partner?" Marceline asked. I looked up to see her smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at her like an idiot.

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; she was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent.

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."

I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident. "Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" she asked as I began to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she asked. Her fingers were ice-cold, like she'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling her hand back immediately. However, she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, still staggered, as she examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.

"Prophase," she agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. She swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Anaphase," she murmured, writing it down as she spoke.

I kept my voice indifferent. "May I?"

She smirked and pushed the microscope to me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, she was right.

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at her.

She handed it to me; it seemed like she was being careful not to touch my skin again.

I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

"Interphase." I passed her the microscope before she could ask for it. She took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while she looked, but her clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Marshall and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.

Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at her… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and she was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in her face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly.

She seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

She shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of her eyes the last time she'd glared at me — the color was striking against the background of her pale skin and her ebony hair. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn't understand how that could be, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. Her hands were clenched into hard fists again.

Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. She looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Marceline, didn't you think Bonnibel should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Bonnie," Marceline corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified three of the five."

Mr. Banner looked at me now; her expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.

I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess its good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Marceline asked. I had the feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like she had heard my conversation with Fiona at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," she mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

She looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that — not straight out like she did, demanding.

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," she pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," she disagreed, but she was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

"And you don't like him," Marceline surmised, her tone still kind.

"No, Gunter is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't fathom her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.

"Gunter travels a lot. She plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" she asked, smiling in response.

"Probably not. She doesn't play _well_. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." She said it as an assumption again, not a question.

My chin raised a fraction. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."

Her eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," she admitted, and she seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Gummy." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," she pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense.

I laughed without humor. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I _have_ heard that somewhere before," she agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.

Her gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," she said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I grimaced at her, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away.

"Am I wrong?"

I tried to ignore her.

"I didn't think so," she murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to _you_?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds.

"That's a very good question," she muttered, so quietly that I wondered if she was talking to herself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" she asked. She sounded amused.

I glanced at her without thinking… and told the truth again. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — my mother always calls me her open book." I frowned.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and she'd guessed, she sounded like she meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," I replied.

"Usually." She smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultra-white teeth.

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who may or may not despise me. She'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.

When the bell finally rang, Marceline rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her in amazement.

Marshall skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail.

"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Abadeer for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," I added before he could get his feelings hurt.

"Abadeer seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it.

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with her last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Marshall's chatter as we walked to Gym, and RE. Didn't do much to hold my attention, either. Marshall was on my team today. He chivalrously covered my position as well as his own, so my woolgathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure. Marceline Abadeer was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw her laughing.


	3. Phenomenon

3\. Phenomenon

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid — coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.

Gummy had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Gummy was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Marceline Abadeer. And that was very, very stupid.

I should be avoiding her entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of her; why should she lie about her eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from her, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured her perfect face. I was well aware that my league and her league were spheres that did not touch. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see her today.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Marceline Abadeer by thinking about Marshall and Neptr, and the obvious difference in how teenagers responded to me here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that the ones back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Possibly my crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress. Whatever the reason, Marshall's puppy dog behavior and Neptr's apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck — carefully holding the side for support — to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Gummy had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and Gummy's unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Marceline Abadeer was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me _again_.

A low oath made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize. Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a ragdoll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt — exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Marceline Abadeer's low, frantic voice in my ear.

"Bonnie? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized she was holding me against the side of her body in an iron grasp.

"Be careful," she warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised.

"That's what I thought." Her voice, amazingly, sounded like she was suppressing laughter.

"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Bonnie," she said, her tone serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time she let me, releasing her hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of her gold-colored eyes. What was I asking her?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Cinnbun out of the van!" someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Marceline's cold hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when she chuckled under her breath. There was an edge to the sound.

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and her chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

Her expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.

"Bonnie, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." She unleashed the full, devastating power of her eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

"No." I set my jaw.

The gold in her eyes blazed. "Please, Bonnie."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Trust me," he pleaded, her soft voice overwhelming.

I could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," she snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," I repeated angrily.

It took six EMTs and two teachers — Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp — to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Marceline vehemently refused hers, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Marceline got to ride in the front. It was maddening.

To make matters worse, Chief Gum arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Bonnie!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Gu — Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper — a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Marceline's shoulders… as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame…

And then there was her family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for their brother's safety.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen — a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Marceline simply glided through the hospital doors under her own power. I ground my teeth together.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Cinnbun Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Cinnbun looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

"Bonnie, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Cinnbun — you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

"Umm… Marceline pulled me out of the way."

He looked confused. "Who?"

"Marceline Abadeer — she was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible liar; I didn't sound convincing at all.

"Abadeer? I didn't see her… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"

"I think so. She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Cinnbun's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

"Is she sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Marceline was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at her. It wasn't easy — it would have been more natural to ogle.

"Hey, Marceline, I'm really sorry —"Cinnbun began.

Marceline lifted a hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul," she said, flashing her brilliant teeth. She moved to sit on the edge of Cinnbun's bed, facing me. She smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked me.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," I complained. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," she answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blond… and he was handsomer than any movie star I'd ever seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Gummy's description, this had to be Marceline's father.

"So, Miss Bubble-Gum," Dr. Abadeer said in a remarkably appealing voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the light board on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Marceline said you hit it pretty hard."

"Its fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Marceline.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" he asked.

"Not really." I'd had worse.

I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Marceline's patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room — you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Gummy trying to be attentive.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Marceline. "Does _she_ get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Marceline said smugly.

"Actually," Dr. Abadeer corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Oh no," I moaned, covering my face with my hands.

Dr. Abadeer raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly— I staggered, and Dr. Abadeer caught me. He looked concerned.

"I'm fine," I assured him again. No need to tell him my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain" he suggested as he steadied me.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Abadeer said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flourish.

"Lucky Marceline happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Abadeer agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Cinnbun, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.

"I'm afraid that _you'll_ have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Cinnbun, and began checking his cuts.

As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Marceline's side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I hissed under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you" she said through her teeth. I glanced at Dr. Abadeer and Cinnbun,

"I'd like to speak with you alone, if you don't mind," I pressed.

She glared, and then turned her back and strode down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me.

"What do you want?" she asked, sounding annoyed. Her eyes were cold.

Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity than I'd intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded her.

"I saved your life — I don't owe you anything."

I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. "You promised."

"Bonnie, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." Her tone was cutting. My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at her. "There's nothing wrong with my head." She glared back. "What do you want from me, Bonnie?"

"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you _think_ happened?" she snapped.

It came out in a rush.

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me —Cinnbun didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both — and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it — and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all — and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up…" I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn't continue. I was so mad I could feel the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grinding my teeth together.

She was staring at me incredulously. But her face was tense, defensive.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" Her tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

I merely nodded once, jaw tight.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." Her voice held an edge of derision now.

"I'm not going to tell anybody." I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

Surprise flitted across her face. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I insisted. "I don't like to lie — so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"No."

"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly.

She paused, and for a brief moment her stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," she whispered.

And then she turned her back on me and walked away.

I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Gummy rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. I was still aggravated, not in the mood for chitchat.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Abadeer saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." I sighed. Marshall and Fiona and Neptr were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Gummy put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief— the first time I'd ever felt that way — to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Gummy was there. I was positive that Marceline's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I'd witnessed.

When we got to the house, Gummy finally spoke.

"Um… you'll need to call Bubble." He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. "You told Mom!"

"Sorry."

I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysteric, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home — forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment — but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Marceline presented. And more than a little obsessed by Marceline himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Gummy continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamed of Marceline Abadeer.


	4. Invitations

4\. Invitations

In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Marceline's skin. I couldn't see her face, just her back as she walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Cinnbun Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it — especially since nothing had actually happened to me — but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Marshall and Neptr were even less friendly toward him than they were to each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan.

No one seemed concerned about Marceline, though I explained over and over that she was the heroine — how she had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Fiona, Marshall, Neptr, and everyone else always commented that they hadn't even seen her there till the van was pulled away.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen her standing so far away, before she was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the probable cause — no one else was as aware of Marceline as I always was. No one else watched her the way I did. How pitiful.

Marceline was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for her firsthand account. People avoided her as usual. The Abadeers and the Humane sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves. None of them, especially Marceline, glanced my way anymore.

When she sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, she seemed totally unaware of my presence. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up — skin stretched even whiter over the bones — did I wonder if she wasn't quite as oblivious as she appeared.

She wished she hadn't pulled me from the path of Cinnbun's van — there was no other conclusion I could come to.

I wanted very much to talk to her, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen her, outside the ER, we'd both been so furious. I still was angry that she wouldn't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But she had in fact saved my life, no matter how she'd done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude.

She was already seated when I got to Biology, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting her to turn toward me. She showed no sign that she realized I was there.

"Hello, Marceline," I said pleasantly, to show her I was going to behave myself.

She turned her head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way.

And that was the last contact I'd had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself— from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as her golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. But in class I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my e-mails alerted Bubble to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.

Marshall, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I could see he'd been worried that Marceline's daring rescue might have impressed me, and he was relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Marceline as completely as he ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Marshall was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

Fiona made me aware of another event looming on the horizon — she called the first Tuesday of March to ask my permission to invite Marshall to the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks.

"Are you sure you don't mind… you weren't planning to ask him?" she persisted when I told her I didn't mind in the least.

"No, Jess, I'm not going," I assured her. Dancing was glaringly outside my range of abilities.

"It will be really fun." Her attempt to convince me was halfhearted. I suspected that Fiona enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my actual company.

"You have fun with Marshall," I encouraged.

The next day, I was surprised that Fiona wasn't her usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. If Marshall had turned her down, I was the last person she would want to tell.

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Fiona sat as far from Marshall as possible, chatting animatedly with Neptr. Marshall was unusually quiet.

Marshall was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn't broach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Marceline sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if she were merely an invention of my imagination.

"So," Marshall said, looking at the floor, "Fiona asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Fiona."

"Well…" He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. "I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved he hadn't given her an absolute no.

His face was bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve.

"I was wondering if… well, if you might be planning to ask me."

I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me. But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Marceline's head tilt reflexively in my direction.

"Marshall, I think you should tell her yes," I said.

"Did you already ask someone?" Did Marceline notice how Marshall's eyes flickered in her direction?

"No," I assured him. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

"Why not?" Marshall demanded.

I didn't want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented, so I quickly made new plans.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway — it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

"Can't you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Fio wait any longer — it's rude."

"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

And Marceline was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in her black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look quickly away. But instead she continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.

"Mr. Abadeer?" the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Marceline answered, seeming reluctant as she turned to look at Mr. Banner.

I looked down at my book as soon as her eyes released me, trying to find my place. Cowardly as ever, I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to hide my face. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me — just because she'd happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow her to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be aware of her for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to her to gather my things, expecting her to leave immediately as usual.

"Bonnie?" Her voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.

I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I knew I _would_ feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to her; her expression was unreadable. She didn't say anything.

"What? Are you speaking to me again?" I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice.

Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. "No, not really," she admitted.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. She waited.

"Then what do you want, Marceline?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to her coherently that way.

"I'm sorry." She sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

I opened my eyes. Her face was very serious.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice guarded.

"It's better if we're not friends," she explained. "Trust me."

My eyes narrowed. I'd heard _that_ before.

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," I hissed through my teeth. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret?" The word, and my tone, obviously caught her off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not just letting that stupid van squish me."

She was astonished. She stared at me in disbelief.

When she finally spoke, she almost sounded mad. "You think I regret saving your life?"

"I _know_ you do," I snapped.

"You don't know anything." She was definitely mad.

I turned my head sharply away from her, clenching my jaw against all the wild accusations I wanted to hurl at her. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of the room, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the door jamb and dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up. She was there; she'd already stacked them into a pile. She handed them to me, her face hard.

"Thank you," I said icily. Her eyes narrowed.

"You're welcome," she retorted.

I straightened up swiftly, turned away from her again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Marceline. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but she kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.

It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. I'd had to replace the taillights, and if I'd had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Cinnbun's parents had to sell their van for parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a tall, dark figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Neptr. I started walking again.

"Hey, Neptr," I called.

"Hi, Bonnie."

"What's up?" I said as I was unlocking the door. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.

"Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?" His voice broke on the last word.

"I thought it was girls' choice," I said, too startled to be diplomatic.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, shamefaced.

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. "Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

"Oh," he said. "Well, maybe next time."

"Sure," I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn't want him to take that too literally.

He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low chuckle.

Marceline was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, her lips pressed together. I yanked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. Marceline was in her car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. She stopped there — to wait for her family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of her shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Cinnbun Crowley was in his recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge him.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Cinnbun. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. His car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.

"I'm sorry, Cinnbun , I'm stuck behind Abadeer." I was annoyed — obviously the holdup wasn't my fault.

"Oh, I know — I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." He grinned.

This could not be happening.

"Will you ask me to the spring dance?" he continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Cinnbun." My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn't his fault that Marshall and Neptr had already used up my quota of patience for the day.

"Yeah, Marshall said that," he admitted.

"Then why —"

He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."

Okay, it was completely his fault.

"Sorry, Cinnbun," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

And before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Flame, Lady, Jake, and Finn all sliding into the Volvo. In her rearview mirror, Marceline's eyes were on me. She was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if she'd heard every word Cinnbun had said. My foot itched toward the gas pedal… one little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job. I revved the engine.

But they were all in, and Marceline was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Gummy or my mom.

It was Fiona, and she was jubilant; Marshall had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call HDP and Lauren to tell them. I suggested — with casual innocence — that maybe HDP, the shy girl who had Biology with me, could ask Neptr. And Lauren, a standoffish girl who had always ignored me at the lunch table, could ask Cinnbun; I'd heard he was still available. Fio thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of Marshall, she actually sounded sincere when she said she wished I would go to the dance. I gave her my Seattle excuse.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner — dicing the chicken especially; I didn't want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Marceline had spoken today. What did she mean, it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach twisted as I realized what she must have meant. She must see how absorbed I was by her; she must not want to lead me on… so we couldn't even be friends… because she wasn't interested in me at all.

Of course she wasn't interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging — a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn't _interesting_. And she was. Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful… and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

Well, that was fine. I could leave her alone. I _would_ leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

Gummy seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. I couldn't blame him — the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Bonnie?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday… if that's okay?" I didn't want to ask permission — it set a bad precedent — but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.

"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Well, I wanted to get few books — the library here is pretty limited — and maybe look at some clothes." I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Gummy, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn't cost me quite a bit in the gas department.

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.

"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia — and Tacoma if I have to."

"Are you going all by yourself?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was suspicious I had a secret boy/girl-friend or just worried about car trouble.

"Yes."

"Seattle is a big city — you could _get_ lost," he fretted.

"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle — and I can read a map, don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror.

"That's all right, Dad, I'll probably just be in dressing rooms all day — very boring."

"Oh, okay." The thought of sitting in women's clothing stores for any period of time immediately put him off.

"Thanks." I smiled at him.

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

Grrr. Only in a town this small would a _father_ know when the high school dances were.

"No — I don't dance, Dad." He, of all people, should understand that — I didn't get my balance problems from my mother.

He did understand. "Oh, that's right," he realized.

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new car. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Marceline Abadeer was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

"How do you _do_ that?" I asked in amazed irritation.

"Do what?" She held my key out as she spoke. As I reached for it, she dropped it into my palm.

"Appear out of thin air."

"Bonnie, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." Her voice was quiet as usual — velvet, muted.

I scowled at her perfect face. Her eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

"Why the traffic jam last night?" I demanded, still looking away. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist, not irritating me to death."

"That was for Cinnbun's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." She snickered.

"You…" I gasped. I couldn't think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn her, but she only seemed more amused.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," she continued.

"So you _are_ trying to irritate me to death? Since Cinnbun's van didn't do the job?"

Anger flashed in her tawny eyes. Her lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

"Bonnie, you are utterly absurd," she said, her low voice cold.

My palms tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I was usually a nonviolent person. I turned my back and started to walk away.

"Wait," she called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But she was next to me, easily keeping pace.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," she said as we walked. I ignored her. "I'm not saying it isn't true," she continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," she chuckled. She seemed to have recovered her good humor.

"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?" I asked severely.

"You're doing it again."

I sighed. "Fine then. What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday; you know, the day of the spring dance-"

"Are you trying to _be funny_?" I interrupted her, wheeling toward her. My face got drenched as I looked up at her expression.

Her eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn't do anything rash.

"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

That was unexpected.

"What?" I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

"With who?" I asked, mystified.

"Myself, obviously." She enunciated every syllable, as if she were talking to someone mentally handicapped.

I was still stunned. " _Why_?"

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern." I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger.

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" She matched my pace again.

"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Honestly, Marceline." I felt a thrill go through me as I said her name, and I hated it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, thanks, now that's _all_ cleared up." Heavy sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at her face. Which certainly didn't help my clarity of thought.

"It would be more… _prudent_ for you not to be my friend," she explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Bonnie."

Her eyes were gloriously intense as she uttered that last sentence, her voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Will you go with me to Seattle?" she asked, still intense.

I couldn't speak yet, so I just nodded.

She smiled briefly, and then her face became serious.

"You really _should_ stay away from me," she warned. "I'll see you in class."

She turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd come.


	5. Blood Type

5\. Blood Type

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Bubble-Gum," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I flushed and hurried to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Marshall wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Neptr both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Marshall seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Marceline had said, and the way her eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to her on any level.

So I was impatient and frightened as Fiona and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see her face, to see if she'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Fiona babbled on and on about her dance plans — Lauren and HDP had asked the other boys and they were all going together — completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on her table. The other four were there, but she was absent. Had she gone home? I followed the still-babbling Fiona through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Marceline Abadeer is staring at you again," Fiona said, finally breaking through my abstraction with her name. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Marceline, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Once she'd caught my eye, she raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared in disbelief, she winked.

"Does she mean _you_?" Fiona asked with insulting astonishment in her voice.

"Maybe he needs help with Biology homework," I muttered for her benefit. "Um, I'd better go see what she wants."

I could feel her staring after me as I walked away.

When I reached her table, I stood behind the chair across from her, unsure.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" she asked, smiling.

I sat down automatically, watching her with caution. She was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that she might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"This is different," I finally managed.

"Well…" She paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

I waited for her to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by.

"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.

"I know." She smiled again, and then she changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back.

"I may not give you back, though," she said with a wicked glint in her eyes.

I gulped.

She laughed. "You look worried."

"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"

"I told you — I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." She was still smiling, but her ocher eyes were serious.

"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.

"Yes — giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." Her smile faded as she explained, and a hard edge crept into her voice.

"You lost me again."

The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry — I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.

"I'm counting on that."

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…" she mused dubious.

"Or not," I muttered.

She grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind her smile, the warning was real.

"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even.

"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." My eyes narrowed. She smiled apologetically.

"So, as long as I'm being… not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.

"That sounds about right."

I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now. "What are you thinking?" she asked curiously.

I looked up into her deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth. "I'm trying to figure out what you are."

Her jaw tightened, but she kept her smile in place with some effort. "Are you having any luck with that?" she asked in an offhand tone. "Not too much," I admitted.

She chuckled. "What are your theories?"

I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

"Won't you tell me?" she asked, tilting her head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile. I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's _really_ frustrating, you know," she complained.

"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't _imagine_ why that would be frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?"

She grimaced.

"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised. That, also, would be _very_ non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

"I don't like double standards."

We stared at each other, unsmiling.

She glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, she snickered.

"What?"

"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you — she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." She snickered again.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course."

"Yes. Except for you." Her mood shifted suddenly; her eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away from the intensity of her stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, distracted.

"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of her.

"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand her expression — it looked like she was enjoying some private joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.

She was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I assured her.

She waited, guarded but curious.

"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"That sounds fair." She was pressing her lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up. "Thanks."

"Then can I have one answer in return?" she demanded. "One."

"Tell me one theory." Whoops. "Not that one."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," she reminded me. "And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded her back.

"Just one theory — I won't laugh." "Yes, you will." I was positive about that.

She looked down, and then glanced up at me through her long black lashes, her ocher eyes scorching. "Please?" she breathed, leaning toward me.

I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crow, how did she do that? "Er, what?" I asked, dazed.

"Please tell me just one little theory." Her eyes still smoldered at me.

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover? "That's not very creative," she scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed. "You're not even close," she teased.

"No spiders?" "Nope."

"And no radioactivity?" "None."

"Dang," I sighed.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," she chuckled.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

She struggled to compose his face.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned her.

"I wish you wouldn't try." She was serious again.

"Because…?"

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad one?" She smiled playfully, but her eyes were impenetrable.

"Oh," I said, as several things she'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."

"Do you?" Her face was abruptly severe, as if she were afraid that she'd accidentally said too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. She _was_ dangerous. She'd been trying to tell me that all along.

She just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad."

"You're wrong." Her voice was almost inaudible. She looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between her fingers. I stared at her, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. She meant what she was saying — that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near her.

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."

"I'm not going to class today," she said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." She smiled up at me, but her eyes were still troubled.

"Well, I'm going," I told her. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.

She turned her attention back to her makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door — with a last glance confirming that she hadn't moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Marshall and HDP were staring at me. Marshall looked resentful; HDP looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Marshall's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at Marshall's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" He grabbed Marshall's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Marshall's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Marshall's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission — I have slips at my desk."

He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Bonnie, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone take Bonnie to the nurse, please?" he called.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Marshall who volunteered.

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

Marshall seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.

Marshall towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

"Wow, you're green, Bonnie," Marshall said nervously.

"Bonnie?" a different voice called from the distance.

No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong — is she hurt?" Her voice was closer now, and she sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

Marshall seemed stressed. "I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger."

"Bonnie." Marceline's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned. "Go away."

She chuckled.

"I was taking her to the nurse," Marshall explained in a defensive tone, "but she wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take her," Marceline said. I could hear the smile still in her voice. "You can go back to class."

"No," Marshall protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Marceline had scooped me up in her arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.

"Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on her. She was walking before I was finished talking.

"Hey!" Marshall called, already ten paces behind us.

Marceline ignored him. "You look awful," she told me, grinning.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of her walk was not helping. She held me away from her body, gingerly, supporting all my weight with just her arms — it didn't seem to bother her.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" she asked. This seemed to entertain her.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together.

"And not even your own blood," she continued, enjoying himself.

I don't know how she opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.

"She fainted in Biology," Marceline explained.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Marceline was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Marceline swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then she moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. Her eyes were bright, excited.

"She's just a little faint," she reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

She muffled a snicker.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Marceline coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," she told her.

"I'm supposed to stay with her." She said this with such assured authority that — even though she pursed her lips — the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go _get_ you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am — but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching _is_ healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," she admitted after a pause. Her tone made it sound like she was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Lee was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Haha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly — I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"Poor Marshall. I'll bet he's mad."

"He absolutely loathes me," Marceline said cheerfully.

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if she could.

"I saw his face — I could tell."

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response — it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.

"We've got another one," she warned.

I hopped down to free up the place for the next invalid.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then Marshall staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Marceline and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no," Marceline muttered. "Go out to the office, Bonnie."

I looked up at her, bewildered.

"Trust me — go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Marceline right behind me.

"You actually listened to me." She was stunned.

"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.

"People can't smell blood," she contradicted.

"Well, I can — that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

She was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Marshall came through the door then, glancing from me to Marceline. The look he gave Marceline confirmed what Marceline had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.

" _You_ look better," he accused.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Marceline, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Marceline again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again… in Gym.

"Gym," I groaned.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Marceline moving to my side, but she spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," she muttered.

That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting spells always exhausted me.

I heard Marceline speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

"Bonnie has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" Her voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming her eyes would be.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Marceline?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bonnie," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With her back to the receptionist, her expression became sarcastic.

"I'll walk."

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. She held the door for me, her smile polite but her eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice — the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky — as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

"Thanks," I said as she followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss gym."

"Anytime." She was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping she would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture her loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; she didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that she might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going, exactly?" She was still looking ahead, expressionless.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach." I studied her face, trying to read it. Her eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.

She glanced down at me from the corner of her eye, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."

I sighed. "I just invited you."

"Let's you and I not push poor Marshall any further this week. We don't want him to snap." Her eyes danced; she was enjoying the idea more than she should.

"Marshall-sch Marshall." I muttered, preoccupied by the way she'd said "you and I." I liked it more than _I_ should.

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, outraged. She was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.

I was confused. "I'm going home."

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" Her voice was still indignant.

"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained.

"I'll have Flame drop it off after school." She was towing me toward her car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. She'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.

"Let go!" I insisted. She ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then she finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger door.

"You are so _pushy_!" I grumbled.

"It's open," was all she responded. She got in the driver's side.

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my back.

She lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Bonnie."

I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before she could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.

"I'll just drag you back," she threatened, guessing my plan.

I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into her car. I wasn't very successful — I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.

"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.

She didn't answer. She fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As she pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give her the silent treatment — my face in full pout mode — but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.

"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.

"You know Debussy?" She sounded surprised, too.

"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house — I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." She stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What is your mother like?" she asked me suddenly.

I glanced over to see her studying me with curious eyes.

"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. She raised her eyebrows. "I have too much Gummy in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me depressed.

"How old are you, Bonnie?" Her voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. She'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Gummy's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

"You don't seem seventeen."

Her tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

"What?" she asked, curious again.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted.

She made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Gunter?"

I was surprised she would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Gunter makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.

"Do you approve?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous… I wonder," she mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" She was suddenly intent, her eyes searching mine.

"I-I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"No one too scary then," she teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?"

But she ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that _I_ could be scary?" She raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened her face.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm… I think you _could be_ , if you wanted to."

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and her heavenly face was suddenly serious.

"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract her. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

She was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Abadeers adopted you?" I verified.

"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Hudson and Madalyn have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way she spoke of them.

"Yes." She smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"And your brother and sister?"

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Finn and Lady for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Bubble-Gum gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." She grinned at me.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.

She laughed, and there was an edge to her laughter.

"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." She glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Jake and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

I remembered Gummy had said the Abadeers went camping frequently.

"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled her, though. A smile was playing around the edges of her lips.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" She turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of her burning gold eyes.

I nodded helplessly.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" She smiled crookedly.

The helplessness had faded as he spoke. I glared at her.

"I'll see what I can do," I snapped as I jumped out into the rain. I slammed the door behind me with excessive force.

She was still smiling as she drove away.


	6. Scary Stories

6\. Scary Stories

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of _Macbeth_ , I was really listening for my truck. I would have thought, even over the pounding rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But when I went to peek out the curtain — again — it was suddenly there.

I wasn't looking forward to Friday, and it more than lived up to my non-expectations. Of course there were the fainting comments. Fiona especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Marshall had kept his mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Marceline's involvement. She did have a lot of questions about lunch, though.

"So what did Marceline Abadeer want yesterday?" Fiona asked in Trig.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "She never really got to the point."

"You looked kind of mad," she fished.

"Did I?" I kept my expression blank.

"You know, I've never seen her sit with anyone but her family before. That was weird."

"Weird," I agreed. She seemed annoyed; she flipped her dark curls impatiently — I guessed she'd been hoping to hear something that would make a good story for her to pass on.

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew she wasn't going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Fiona and Marshall, I couldn't keep from looking at her table, where Lady, Flame, and Finn sat talking, heads close together. And I couldn't stop the gloom that engulfed me as I realized I didn't know how long I would have to wait before I saw her again.

At my usual table, everyone was full of our plans for the next day. Marshall was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised sun tomorrow. I'd have to see that before I believed it. But it was warmer today — almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn't be completely miserable.

I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from Lauren during lunch, which I didn't understand until we were all walking out of the room together. I was right behind her, just a foot from her slick, silver blond hair, and she was evidently unaware of that.

"…don't know why _Bonnie"_ — she sneered my name — "doesn't just sit with the Abadeers from now on."

I heard her muttering to Marshall. I'd never noticed what an unpleasant, nasal voice she had, and I was surprised by the malice in it. I really didn't know her well at all, certainly not well enough for her to dislike me — or so I'd thought. "She's my friend; she sits with us," Marshall whispered back loyally, but also a bit territorially. I paused to let Fio and HDP pass me. I didn't want to hear any more.

That night at dinner, Gummy seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekends, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course he knew the names of all the kids going, and their parents, and their great-grandparents, too, probably. He seemed to approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Marceline Abadeer. Not that I was going to tell him.

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think its south of Mount Rainier" I asked casually.

"Yeah — why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears. Most people go there during the hunting season."

"Oh," I murmured. "Maybe I got the name wrong."

I meant to sleep in, but an unusual brightness woke me. I opened my eyes to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window. I couldn't believe it. I hurried to the window to check, and sure enough, there was the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too low, and it didn't seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun. Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was visible in the middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid that if I left the blue would disappear again.

The Lees' Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen the store, but I'd never stopped there — not having much need for any supplies required for being outdoors over an extended period of time. In the parking lot I recognized Marshall's Suburban and Cinnbun's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing around in front of the Suburban. Neptr was there, along with two other boys I had class with; I was fairly sure their names were Ben and Conner. Fio was there, flanked by HDP and Lauren. Three other girls stood with them, including one I remembered falling over in Gym on Friday. That one gave me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and whispered something to Lauren. Lauren shook out her corn silk hair and eyed me scornfully.

So it was going to be one of _those_ days.

At least Marshall was happy to see me.

"You came!" he called, delighted. "And I said it would be sunny today, didn't I?"

"I told you I was coming," I reminded him.

"We're just waiting for Lee and Samantha… unless you invited someone," Marshall added.

"Nope," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught in the lie. But also wishing that a miracle would occur, and Marceline would appear.

Marshall looked satisfied.

"Will you ride in my car? It's that or Lee's mom's minivan."

"Sure."

He smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Marshall happy.

"You can have shotgun," he promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn't as simple to make Marshall and Fiona happy at the same time. I could see Fiona glowering at us now.

The numbers worked out in my favor, though. Lee brought two extra people, and suddenly every seat was necessary. I managed to wedge Fio in between Marshall and me in the front seat of the Suburban. Marshall could have been more graceful about it, but at least Fio seemed appeased.

It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quileute River snaking beneath it twice. I was glad I had the window seat. We'd rolled the windows down — the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine people in it — and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible.

I'd been to the beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Gummy, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves.

There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle wheeled above them. The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue sky.

We picked our way down to the beach, Marshall leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Neptr and the boy I thought was named Ben gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Marshall asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches; the other girls clustered, gossiping excitedly, on either side of me. Marshall kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter.

"No," I said as he placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.

"You'll like this then — watch the colors." He lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood.

"It's blue," I said in surprise.

"The salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" He lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully, Fio was on his other side. She turned to him and claimed his attention. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky.

After a half hour of chatter, some of the boys wanted to hike to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved the tide pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad. It reminded me of Marceline's request — that I not fall into the ocean.

Lauren was the one who made my decision for me. She didn't want to hike, and she was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Most of the other girls besides HDP and Fiona decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Cinnbun and Neptr had committed to remaining with them before I got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. Marshall gave me a huge smile when he saw that I was coming.

The hike wasn't too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I soon fell behind. Eventually I broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to the sea. Along its pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were teeming with life.

I was very cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind that wondered what Marceline was doing now, and trying to imagine what he would be saying if he were here with me.

Finally the boys were hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell a few times. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, and the knees of my jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse.

When we got back toFirstBeach , the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we got closer we could see the shining, straight black hair and copper skin of the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation come to socialize.

The food was already being passed around, and the boys hurried to claim a share while Neptr introduced us as we each entered the driftwood circle. HDP and I were the last to arrive, and, as Neptr said our names, I noticed a younger boy sitting on the stones near the fire glance up at me in interest. I sat down next to HDP, and Marshall brought us sandwiches and an array of sodas to choose from, while a boy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with him. All I caught was that one of the girls was also named Fiona, and the boy who noticed me was named BMO.

It was relaxing to sit with HDP; she was a restful kind of person to be around — she didn't feel the need to fill every silence with chatter. She left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide

— with Fiona shadowing him — headed up to the one shop in the village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Lauren and Cinnbun occupying themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around the circle, including the boy named BMO and the oldest boy who had acted as spokesperson.

A few minutes after HDP left with the hikers, BMO sauntered over to take her place by my side. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just a hint of childish roundness left around his chin. Altogether, a very pretty face. However, my positive opinion of his looks was damaged by the first words out of his mouth.

"You're Bonnibel Bubble-Gum, aren't you?"

It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Bonnie," I sighed.

"I'm BMO Black." He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. "You bought my dad's truck."

"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking his sleek hand. "You're Hugwo's son. I probably should remember you."

"No, I'm the youngest of the family — you would remember my older sisters."

"Rachel and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Gummy and Hugwo had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I'd kicked up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven.

"Are they here?" I examined the girls at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would recognize them now.

"No." BMO shook his head. "Rachel got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer — she lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was.

"So how do you like the truck?" he asked.

"I love it. It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," he laughed. "I was so relieved when Gummy bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," I objected.

"Have you tried to go over sixty?"

"No," I admitted.

"Good. Don't." He grinned.

I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," he agreed with another laugh.

"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed.

"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" he added jokingly. He had a pleasant, husky voice.

"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." As if I knew what that was. He was very easy to talk with.

He flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was learning to recognize. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Bonnie, BMO?" Lauren asked — in what I imagined was an insolent tone — from across the fire.

"We've sort of known each other since I was born," he laughed, smiling at me again.

"How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her pale, fishy eyes narrowed.

"Bonnie," she called again, watching my face carefully, "I was just saying to Cinnbun that it was too bad none of the Abadeers could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?" Her expression of concern was unconvincing.

"You mean Dr. Hudson Abadeer's family?" the tall, older boy asked before I could respond, much to Lauren's irritation. He was really closer to a man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.

"Yes, do you know them?" she asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward him.

"The Abadeers don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring her question.

Cinnbun, trying to win back her attention, asked Lauren's opinion on a CD he held. She was distracted.

I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He'd said that the Abadeers didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more — that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.

BMO interrupted my meditation. "So is Forks driving you insane yet?"

"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I grimaced. He grinned understandingly.

I was still turning over the brief comment on the Abadeers, and I had a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, but I didn't have any better ideas. I hoped that young BMO was as yet inexperienced around girls, so that he wouldn't see through my sure-to-be-pitiful attempts at flirting.

"Do you want to walk down the beach with me?" I asked, trying to imitate that way Marceline had of looking up from underneath his eyelashes. It couldn't have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but BMO jumped up willingly enough.

As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.

"So you're, what, sixteen?" I asked, trying not to look like an idiot as I fluttered my eyelids the way I'd seen girls do on TV.

"I just turned fifteen," he confessed, flattered.

"Really?" My face was full of false surprise. "I would have thought you were older."

"I'm tall for my age," he explained.

"Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid he would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but he still seemed flattered.

"Not too much," he admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want — after I get my license," he amended.

"Who was that other boy Lauren was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us." I purposefully lumped myself in with the youngsters, trying to make it clear that I preferred BMO.

"That's Sam — he's nineteen," he informed me.

"What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked innocently.

"The Abadeers? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." He looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I'd thought I'd heard in Sam's voice.

"Why not?"

He glanced back at me, biting his lip. "Oops. I'm not supposed to say anything about that."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I tried to make my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

He smiled back, though, looking allured. Then he lifted one eyebrow and his voice was even huskier than before.

"Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.

"I _love_ them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.

BMO strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree. He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from — the Quileutes, I mean?" he began.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood — supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves — and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.

"Then there are the stories about the _cold ones_." His voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

"So you see," BMO continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did — they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why…?"I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Abadeers? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the _same_ ones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Hudson. He'd been here and gone before _your_ people had even arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What _are_ the cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face was exposing.

"You have goose bumps," he laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented him, still staring into the waves.

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at him yet. "Don't worry, I won't give you away."

"I guess I just violated the treaty," he laughed.

"I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then I shivered.

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Gummy. He was pretty mad at my dad when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Abadeer started working there."

"I won't, of course not."

"So do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" he asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean.

I turned and smiled at him as normally as I could.

"No. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" I held up my arm.

"Cool." He smiled.

And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Marshall and Fiona about fifty yards away, walking toward us.

"There you are, Bonnie," Marshall called in relief, waving his arm over his head.

"Is that your boyfriend?" BMO asked, alerted by the jealous edge in Marshall's voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.

"No, definitely not," I whispered. I was tremendously grateful to BMO, and eager to make him as happy as possible. I winked at him, carefully turning away from Marshall to do so. He smiled, elated by my inept flirting.

"So when I get my license…" he began.

"You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime." I felt guilty as I said this, knowing that I'd used him. But I really did like BMO. He was someone I could easily be friends with.

Marshall had reached us now, with Fiona still a few paces back. I could see his eyes appraising BMO, and looking satisfied at his obvious youth.

"Where have you been?" he asked, though the answer was right in front of him.

"BMO was just telling me some local stories," I volunteered. "It was really interesting."

I smiled at BMO warmly, and he grinned back.

"Well," Marshall paused, carefully reassessing the situation as he watched our camaraderie. "We're packing up — it looks like it's going to rain soon."

We all looked up at the glowering sky. It certainly did look like rain.

"Okay." I jumped up. "I'm coming."

"It was nice to see you _again_ ," BMO said, and I could tell he was taunting Marshall just a bit.

"It really was. Next time Gummy comes down to see Hugwo, I'll come, too," I promised.

His grin stretched across his face. "That would be cool."

"And thanks," I added earnestly.

I pulled up my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Suburban the others were already loading everything back in. I crawled into the backseat by HDP and Cinnbun, announcing that I'd already had my turn in the shotgun position. HDP just stared out the window at the escalating storm, and Lauren twisted around in the middle seat to occupy Cinnbun's attention, so I could simply lay my head back on the seat and close my eyes and try very hard not to think.


	7. Nightmare

8\. Port Angeles

Fio drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four. It had been a while since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen rush was invigorating. We listened to whiny rock songs while Fiona jabbered on about the boys we hung out with. Fiona's dinner with Marshall had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself, pleased. HDP was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Neptr. Fio tried to get her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. HDP threw a grateful glance my way.

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Forks. But Fiona and HDP knew it well, so they didn't plan to waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Fio drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face.

The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant. Both Fiona and HDP seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.

"Didn't you ever go with a boy/girl-friend or something?" Fio asked dubiously as we walked through the front doors of the store.

"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems. "I've never had a boy/girl-friend or anything close. I didn't go out much."

"Why not?" Fiona demanded.

"No one asked me," I answered honestly.

She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and you tell them no." We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.

"Well, except for Cinnbun," HDP amended quietly.

"Excuse me?" I gasped. "What did you say?"

"Cinnbun told everyone he's taking you to prom," Fiona informed me with suspicious eyes.

"He said _what_?" I sounded like I was choking.

"I told you it wasn't true," HDP murmured to Fiona.

I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do.

"That's why Lauren doesn't like you," Fiona giggled while we pawed through the clothes.

I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?"

"Maybe," Fio snickered. '" _If_ that's why he's doing this."

The dress selection wasn't large, but both of them found a few things to try on. I sat on a low chair just inside the dressing room, by the three-way mirror, trying to control my fuming.

Fio was torn between two — one a long, strapless, basic black number, the other a knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. I encouraged her to go with the blue; why not play up the eyes? HDP chose a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out honey tints in her light brown hair. I complimented them both generously and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with Mum at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.

We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did need new shoes. The girls'-night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Cinnbun, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.

"HDP?" I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pink strappy heels — she was overjoyed to have a date tall enough that she could wear high heels at all.

Fiona had drifted to the jewelry counter and we were alone.

"Yes?" She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of the shoe.

I chickened out. "I like those."

"I think I'll get them — though they'll never match anything but the one dress," she mused.

"Oh, go ahead — they're on sale," I encouraged. She smiled, putting the lid back on a box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.

I tried again. "Um, HDP…" She looked up curiously.

"Is it normal for the…Abadeers" — I kept my eyes on the shoes — "to be out of school a lot?" I failed miserably in my attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time — even the doctor. They're all real outdoorsy," she told me quietly, examining her shoes, too. She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Fiona would have unleashed. I was beginning to really like HDP.

"Oh." I let the subject drop as Fiona returned to show us the rhinestone jewelry she'd found to match her silver shoes.

We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Fio and HDP were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour — I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Fio pointed out.

I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. I didn't even go inside. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip. There had to be a normal bookstore in town.

I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should to where I was going; I was wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about him, and what HDP had said… and more than anything trying to beat down my hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when I looked up to see someone's silver Volvo parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself.

I stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked promising. But when I got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. I still had too much time to go looking for Fio and HDP yet, and I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around the corner.

I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try my luck on a different street on my way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists. As they approached me, I realized they weren't too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms. I scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as I could to give them room, walking swiftly, looking past them to the corner.

"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two were slowing. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.

"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner. I could hear them laughing at full volume behind me.

"Hey, wait!" one of them called after me again, but I kept my head down and rounded the corner with a sigh of relief. I could still hear them chortling behind me.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, I realized, the clouds finally returning, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. The eastern sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange. I'd left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.

They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither was the dark one who'd spoken to me. I turned my head forward at once, quickening my pace. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather made me shiver again. My purse was on a shoulder strap and I had it slung across my body, the way you were supposed to wear it so it wouldn't get snatched. I knew exactly where my pepper spray was — still in my duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked. I didn't have much money with me, just a twenty and some ones, and I thought about "accidentally" dropping my bag and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be something worse than thieves.

I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and it didn't sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know they're following you. I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running, focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yards away from me now. I could hear them, staying as far back as they'd been before. A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.

I reached the corner, but a swift glance revealed that it was only a blind drive to the back of another building. I was half-turned in anticipation; I had to hurriedly correct and dash across the narrow drive, back to the sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could outrun me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to go any faster. The footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.

It seemed to take forever for me to get to the corner. I kept my pace steady, the men behind me falling ever so slightly farther behind with every step. Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry. I saw two cars going north pass the intersection I was heading for, and I exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once I got off this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.

And skidded to a stop.

The street was lined on both sides by blank, door less, windowless walls. I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.

I was being herded.

I paused for only a second, but it felt like a very long time. I turned then and darted to the other side of the road. I had a sinking feeling that it was a wasted attempt. The footsteps behind me were louder now.

"There you are!" The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the intense quiet and made me jump. In the gathering darkness, it seemed like he was looking past me.

"Yeah," a voice called loudly from behind me, making me jump again as I tried to hurry down the street. "We just took a little detour."

My steps had to slow now. I was closing the distance between myself and the lounging pair too quickly. I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn't sure how much volume I could manage. With a quick movement I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to surrender it or use it as weapon as need demanded.

The thickset man shrugged away from the wall as I warily came to a stop, and walked slowly into the street.

"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat — no volume.

"Don't be like that, sugar," he called, and the raucous laughter started again behind me.

I braced myself, feet apart, trying to remember through my panic what little self-defense I knew. Heel of the hand thrust upward, hopefully breaking the nose or shoving it into the brain. Finger through the eye socket — try to hook around and pop the eye out. And the standard knee to the groin, of course. That same pessimistic voice in my mind spoke up then, reminding me that I probably wouldn't have a chance against one of them, and there were four. Shut up! I commanded the voice before terror could incapacitate me. I wasn't going out without taking someone with me. I tried to swallow so I could build up a decent scream.

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stocky one, forcing him to jump back toward the sidewalk. I dove into the road — _this_ car was going to stop, or have to hit me. But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.

"Get in," a furious voice commanded.

It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me — even before I was off the street — as soon as I heard her voice. I jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.

It was dark in the car, no light had come on with the opening of the door, and I could barely see her face in the glow from the dashboard. The tires squealed as she spun around to face north, accelerating too quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. I caught a glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as we straightened out and sped toward the harbor.

"Put on your seat belt," she commanded, and I realized I was clutching the seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness. She took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.

But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going. I stared at her face in profound relief, relief that went beyond my sudden deliverance. I studied her flawless features in the limited light, waiting for my breath to return to normal, until it occurred to me that her expression was murderously angry.

"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.

"No," she said curtly, and her tone was livid.

I sat in silence, watching her face while her blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.

"Bonnie?" she asked, her voice tight, controlled.

"Yes?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.

"Are you all right?" She still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on her face.

"Yes," I croaked softly.

"Distract me, please," she ordered.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She exhaled sharply.

"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down," she clarified, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"Um." I wracked my brain for something trivial. "I'm going to run over Cinnbun Crowley tomorrow before school?"

She was still squeezing her eyes closed, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Why?"

"He's telling everyone that he's taking me to prom — either he's insane or he's still trying to make up for almost killing me last… well, you remember it, and he thinks _prom_ is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we're even, and he can't keep trying to make amends. I don't need enemies and maybe Lauren would back off if he left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though. If he doesn't have a ride he can't take anyone to prom…" I babbled on.

"I heard about that." She sounded a bit more composed.

" _You_ did?" I asked in disbelief, my previous irritation flaring. "If he's paralyzed from the neck down, he can't go to the prom, either," I muttered, refining my plan.

Marceline sighed, and finally opened her eyes.

"Better?"

"Not really."

I waited, but she didn't speak again. She leaned her head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. Her face was rigid.

"What's wrong?" My voice came out in a whisper.

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Bonnie." She was whispering, too, and as she stared out the window, her eyes narrowed into slits. "But it _wouldn't_ be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those…" She didn't finish her sentence, looking away, struggling for a moment to control her anger again. "At least," she continued, "that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"Oh." The word seemed inadequate, but I couldn't think of a better response.

We sat in silence again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was past six-thirty.

"Fiona and HDP will be worried," I murmured. "I was supposed to meet them."

She started the engine without another word, turning around smoothly and speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk. She parallel-parked against the curb in a space I would have thought much too small for the Volvo, but she slid in effortlessly in one try. I looked out the window to see the lights of La Bella Italia, and Fio and HDP just leaving, pacing anxiously away from us.

"How did you know where…?" I began, but then I just shook my head. I heard the door open and turned to see her getting out.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm taking you to dinner." She smiled slightly, but her eyes were hard. She stepped out of the car and slammed the door. I fumbled with my seat belt, and then hurried to get out of the car as well. She was waiting for me on the sidewalk.

She spoke before I could. "Go stop Fiona and HDP before I have to track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again."

I shivered at the threat in her voice.

"Fio! HDP!" I yelled after them, waving when they turned. They rushed back to me, the pronounced relief on both their faces simultaneously changing to surprise as they saw who I was standing next to. They hesitated a few feet from us.

"Where have you been?" Fiona's voice was suspicious.

"I got lost," I admitted sheepishly. "And then I ran into Marceline." I gestured toward her.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" she asked in her silken, irresistible voice. I could see from their staggered expressions that she had never unleashed her talents on them before.

"Er… sure," Fiona breathed.

"Um, actually, Bonnie, we already ate while we were waiting — sorry," HDP confessed.

"That's fine — I'm not hungry." I shrugged.

"I think you should eat something." Marceline's voice was low, but full of authority. She looked up at Fiona and spoke slightly louder. "Do you mind if I drive Bonnie home tonight? That way you won't have to wait while she eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess…" She bit her lip, trying to figure out from my expression whether that was what I wanted. I winked at her. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my perpetual savior. There were so many questions that I couldn't bombard her with till we were by ourselves.

"Okay." HDP was quicker than Fiona. "See you tomorrow, Bonnie… Marceline." She grabbed Fiona's hand and pulled her toward the car, which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street. As they got in, Fio turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. I waved back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned to face her.

"Honestly, I'm not hungry," I insisted, looking up to scrutinize her face. Her expression was unreadable.

"Humor me."

She walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an obstinate expression. Obviously, there would be no further discussion. I walked past her into the restaurant with a resigned sigh.

The restaurant wasn't crowded — it was the off-season in Port Angeles. The host was male, and I understood the look in his eyes as she assessed Marceline. He welcomed her a little more warmly than necessary. I was surprised by how much that bothered me. He was taller than I was, and unnaturally blond.

"A table for two?" Her voice was alluring, whether she was aiming for that or not. I saw his eyes flicker to me and then away, satisfied by my obvious ordinariness, and by the cautious, no-contact space Marceline kept between us. She led us to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor.

I was about to sit, but Marceline shook her head at me.

"Perhaps something more private?" she insisted quietly to the host. I wasn't sure, but it looked like she smoothly handed him a tip. I'd never seen anyone refuse a table except in old movies.

"Sure." He sounded as surprised as I was. He turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths — all of them empty. "How's this?"

"Perfect." She flashed her gleaming smile, dazing him momentarily.

"Um" — he shook her head, blinking — "your server will be right out." He walked away unsteadily.

"You really shouldn't do that to people," I criticized. "It's hardly fair."

"Do what?"

"Dazzle them like that — he's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

She seemed confused.

"Oh, come on," I said dubiously. "You _have_ to know the effect you have on people."

She tilted her head to one side, and her eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?"

"You haven't noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

She ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle _you_?"

"Frequently," I admitted.

And then our server arrived, his face expectant. The host had definitely dished behind the scenes, and this new one didn't look disappointed. He straightened up and smiled with unnecessary warmth.

"Hello. I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?" I didn't miss that he was speaking only to her.

She looked at me.

"I'll have a Coke." It sounded like a question.

"Two Cokes," she said.

"I'll be right back with that," he assured her with another unnecessary smile. But she didn't see it. She was watching me.

"What?" I asked when he left.

Her eyes stayed fixed on my face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I replied, surprised by her intensity.

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold…?"

"Should I?"

She chuckled at my puzzled tone.

"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock." Her face twisted up into that perfect crooked smile.

"I don't think that will happen," I said after I could breathe again. "I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things."

"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you."

Right on cue, the waiter appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. He stood with his back to me as he placed them on the table.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked Marceline.

"Bonnie?" she asked. He turned unwillingly toward me.

I picked the first thing I saw on the menu. "Um… I'll have the mushroom ravioli."

"And you?" He turned back to her with a smile.

"Nothing for me," she said. Of course not.

"Let me know if you change your mind." The coy smile was still in place, but she wasn't looking at him, and he left dissatisfied.

"Drink," she ordered.

I sipped at my soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised by how thirsty I was. I realized I had finished the whole thing when she pushed her glass toward me.

"Thanks," I muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy soda was radiating through my chest, and I shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just the Coke," I explained, shivering again.

"Don't you have a jacket?" Her voice was disapproving.

"Yes." I looked at the empty bench next to me. "Oh — I left it in Fiona's car," I realized.

Marceline was shrugging out of her jacket. I suddenly realized that I had never once noticed what she was wearing — not just tonight, but ever. I just couldn't seem to look away from her face. I made myself look now, focusing. She was removing a light beige leather jacket now; underneath she wore an ivory turtleneck sweater. It fit her snugly, emphasizing how muscular she was.

She handed me the jacket, interrupting my ogling.

"Thanks," I said again, sliding my arms into her jacket. It was cold — the way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, hanging in the drafty hallway. I shivered again. It smelled amazing. I inhaled, trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn't smell like cologne. The sleeves were much too long; I shoved them back so I could free my hands.

"That color blue looks lovely with your skin," she said, watching me. I was surprised; I looked down, blushing, of course.

She pushed the bread basket toward me.

"Really, I'm not going into shock," I protested.

"You should be — a _normal_ person would be. You don't even look shaken." She seemed unsettled. She stared into my eyes, and I saw how light her eyes were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, golden butterscotch.

"I feel very safe with you," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again.

That displeased her; her thin dark brow furrowed. She shook her head, frowning.

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," she murmured to himself.

I picked up a breadstick and began nibbling on the end, measuring her expression. I wondered when it would be okay to start questioning her.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," I commented, trying to distract her from whatever thought had left him frowning and somber.

She stared at me, stunned. "What?"

"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black — I expect it then," I went on. "I have a theory about that."

Her eyes narrowed. "More theories?"

"Mm-hm." I chewed on a small bite of the bread, trying to look indifferent.

"I hope you were more creative this time… or are you still stealing from comic books?" Her faint smile was mocking; her eyes were still tight.

"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it on my own, either," I confessed.

"And?" she prompted.

But then the waiter strode around the partition with my food. I realized we'd been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as he approached. He set the dish in front of me — it looked pretty good — and turned quickly to Marceline.

"Did you change your mind?" he asked. "Isn't there anything I can get you?" I may have been imagining the double meaning in his words.

"No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice." she gestured with a long white hand to the empty cups in front of me.

"Sure." He removed the empty glasses and walked away.

"You were saying?" she asked.

"I'll tell you about it in the car. If…" I paused.

"There are conditions?" She raised one eyebrow, her voice ominous.

"I do have a few questions, of course."

"Of course."

The waiter was back with two more Cokes. He sat them down without a word this time, and left again.

I took a sip.

"Well, go ahead," she pushed, her voice still hard.

I started with the most undemanding. Or so I thought. "Why are you in Port Angeles?"

She looked down, folding her large hands together slowly on the table. Her eyes flickered up at me from under her lashes, the hint of a smirk on her face.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one," I objected.

"Next," she repeated.

I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took another sip of Coke before I looked up.

"Okay, then." I glared at her, and continued slowly. "Let's say, hypothetically of course, that… someone… could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know — with a few exceptions."

"Just _one_ exception," she corrected, "hypothetically."

"All right, with one exception, then." I was thrilled that she was playing along, but I tried to seem casual.

"How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone… find someone else at exactly the right time? How would she know she was in trouble?" I wondered if my convoluted questions even made sense.

"Hypothetically?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Well, if… that someone…"

"Let's call him 'Mary,'" I suggested.

She smiled wryly. "Mary, then. If Mary had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Only _you_ could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"We were speaking of a hypothetical case," I reminded her frostily.

She laughed at me, her eyes warm.

"Yes, we were," she agreed. "Shall we call you 'Jane'?"

"How did you know?" I asked, unable to curb my intensity. I realized I was leaning toward her again.

She seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. Her eyes locked with mine, and I guessed she was making the decision right then whether or not to simply tell me the truth.

"You can trust me, you know," I murmured. I reached forward, without thinking, to touch her folded hands, but she slid them away minutely, and I pulled my hand back.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I was wrong — you're much more observant than I gave you credit for."

"I thought you were always right."

"I used to be." She shook her head again. "I was wrong about you on one other thing, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents — that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

"And you put yourself into that category?" I guessed.

Her face turned cold, expressionless. "Unequivocally."

I stretched my hand across the table again — ignoring her when she pulled back slightly once more — to touch the back of her hand shyly with my fingertips. Her skin was cold and hard, like a stone.

"Thank you." My voice was fervent with gratitude. "That's twice now."

Her face softened. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"

I scowled, but nodded. She moved her hand out from under mine, placing both of her under the table. But she leaned toward me.

"I followed you to Port Angeles" she admitted, speaking in a rush. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." She paused. I wondered if it should bother me that she was following me; instead I felt a strange surge of pleasure. She stared, maybe wondering why my lips were curving into an involuntary smile.

"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with fate?" I speculated, distracting myself.

"That wasn't the first time," she said, and her voice was hard to hear. I stared at her in amazement, but she was looking down. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

I felt a spasm of fear at her words, and the abrupt memory of her violent black glare that first day… but the overwhelming sense of safety I felt in her presence stifled it. By the time she looked up to read my eyes, there was no trace of fear in them.

"You remember?" she asked, her angel's face grave.

"Yes." I was calm.

"And yet here you sit." There was a trace of disbelief in his voice; she raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, here I sit… because of you." I paused. "Because somehow you knew how to find me today…?" I prompted.

She pressed her lips together, staring at me through narrowed eyes, deciding again. Her eyes flashed down to my full plate, and then back to me.

"You eat, I'll talk," she bargained.

I quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in my mouth.

"It's harder than it should be — keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." She looked at me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen. I made myself swallow, then stabbed another ravioli and tossed it in.

"I was keeping tabs on Fiona, not carefully — like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles — and at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south… and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street — to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious…" She was lost in thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine.

"I started to drive in circles, still… listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then —" She stopped, clenching her teeth together in sudden fury. She made an effort to calm himself.

"Then what?" I whispered. She continued to stare over my head.

"I heard what they were thinking," she growled, her upper lip curling slightly back over her teeth. "I saw your face in his mind." She suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, her hand covering her eyes. The movement was so swift it startled me.

"It was very… hard — you can't imagine how hard — for me to simply take you away, and leave them… alive." Her voice was muffled by her arm. "I could have let you go with Fiona and HDP, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them," she admitted in a whisper.

I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hands were folded in my lap, and I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. She still had her face in her hand, and she was as still as if she'd been carved from the stone her skin resembled.

Finally she looked up, her eyes seeking mine, full of her own questions.

"Are you ready to go home?" she asked.

"I'm ready to leave," I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hour-long ride home together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to her.

The waiter appeared as if he'd been called. Or watching.

"How are we doing?" he asked Marceline.

"We're ready for the check, thank you." Her voice was quiet, rougher, still reflecting the strain of our conversation. It seemed to muddle him. She looked up, waiting.

"S-sure," he stuttered. "Here you go." He pulled a small leather folder from the front pocket of his black apron and handed it to her.

There was a bill in her hand already. She slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to him.

"No change." She smiled. Then she stood up, and I scrambled awkwardly to my feet.

He smiled invitingly at her again. "You have a nice evening."

She didn't look away from me as she thanked him. I suppressed a smile.

She walked close beside me to the door, still careful not to touch me. I remembered what Fiona had said about her relationship with Marshall, how they were almost to the first-kiss stage. I sighed. Marceline seemed to hear me, and she looked down curiously. I looked at the sidewalk, grateful that she didn't seem to be able to know what I was thinking.

She opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in, shutting it softly behind me. I watched her walk around the front of the car, amazed, yet again, by how graceful she was. I probably should have been used to that by now — but I wasn't. I had a feeling Marceline wasn't the kind of person anyone got used to.

Once inside the car, she started the engine and turned the heater on high. It had gotten very cold, and I guessed the good weather was at an end. I was warm in her jacket, though, breathing in the scent of it when I thought she couldn't see.

Marceline pulled out through the traffic, apparently without a glance, flipping around to head toward the freeway.

"Now," she said significantly, "it's your turn."


	8. Port Angeles

8\. Port Angeles

Fio drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four. It had been a while since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen rush was invigorating. We listened to whiny rock songs while Fiona jabbered on about the boys we hung out with. Fiona's dinner with Marshall had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself, pleased. HDP was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Neptr. Fio tried to get her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. HDP threw a grateful glance my way.

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Forks. But Fiona and HDP knew it well, so they didn't plan to waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Fio drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face.

The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant. Both Fiona and HDP seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.

"Didn't you ever go with a boy/girl-friend or something?" Fio asked dubiously as we walked through the front doors of the store.

"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems. "I've never had a boy/girl-friend or anything close. I didn't go out much."

"Why not?" Fiona demanded.

"No one asked me," I answered honestly.

She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and you tell them no." We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.

"Well, except for Cinnbun," HDP amended quietly.

"Excuse me?" I gasped. "What did you say?"

"Cinnbun told everyone he's taking you to prom," Fiona informed me with suspicious eyes.

"He said _what_?" I sounded like I was choking.

"I told you it wasn't true," HDP murmured to Fiona.

I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do.

"That's why Lauren doesn't like you," Fiona giggled while we pawed through the clothes.

I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?"

"Maybe," Fio snickered. '" _If_ that's why he's doing this."

The dress selection wasn't large, but both of them found a few things to try on. I sat on a low chair just inside the dressing room, by the three-way mirror, trying to control my fuming.

Fio was torn between two — one a long, strapless, basic black number, the other a knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. I encouraged her to go with the blue; why not play up the eyes? HDP chose a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out honey tints in her light brown hair. I complimented them both generously and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with Mum at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.

We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did need new shoes. The girls'-night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Cinnbun, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.

"HDP?" I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pink strappy heels — she was overjoyed to have a date tall enough that she could wear high heels at all.

Fiona had drifted to the jewelry counter and we were alone.

"Yes?" She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of the shoe.

I chickened out. "I like those."

"I think I'll get them — though they'll never match anything but the one dress," she mused.

"Oh, go ahead — they're on sale," I encouraged. She smiled, putting the lid back on a box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.

I tried again. "Um, HDP…" She looked up curiously.

"Is it normal for the…Abadeers" — I kept my eyes on the shoes — "to be out of school a lot?" I failed miserably in my attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time — even the doctor. They're all real outdoorsy," she told me quietly, examining her shoes, too. She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Fiona would have unleashed. I was beginning to really like HDP.

"Oh." I let the subject drop as Fiona returned to show us the rhinestone jewelry she'd found to match her silver shoes.

We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Fio and HDP were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour — I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Fio pointed out.

I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. I didn't even go inside. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip. There had to be a normal bookstore in town.

I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should to where I was going; I was wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about him, and what HDP had said… and more than anything trying to beat down my hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when I looked up to see someone's silver Volvo parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself.

I stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked promising. But when I got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. I still had too much time to go looking for Fio and HDP yet, and I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around the corner.

I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try my luck on a different street on my way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists. As they approached me, I realized they weren't too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms. I scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as I could to give them room, walking swiftly, looking past them to the corner.

"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two were slowing. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.

"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner. I could hear them laughing at full volume behind me.

"Hey, wait!" one of them called after me again, but I kept my head down and rounded the corner with a sigh of relief. I could still hear them chortling behind me.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, I realized, the clouds finally returning, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. The eastern sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange. I'd left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.

They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither was the dark one who'd spoken to me. I turned my head forward at once, quickening my pace. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather made me shiver again. My purse was on a shoulder strap and I had it slung across my body, the way you were supposed to wear it so it wouldn't get snatched. I knew exactly where my pepper spray was — still in my duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked. I didn't have much money with me, just a twenty and some ones, and I thought about "accidentally" dropping my bag and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be something worse than thieves.

I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and it didn't sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know they're following you. I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running, focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yards away from me now. I could hear them, staying as far back as they'd been before. A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.

I reached the corner, but a swift glance revealed that it was only a blind drive to the back of another building. I was half-turned in anticipation; I had to hurriedly correct and dash across the narrow drive, back to the sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could outrun me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to go any faster. The footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.

It seemed to take forever for me to get to the corner. I kept my pace steady, the men behind me falling ever so slightly farther behind with every step. Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry. I saw two cars going north pass the intersection I was heading for, and I exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once I got off this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.

And skidded to a stop.

The street was lined on both sides by blank, door less, windowless walls. I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.

I was being herded.

I paused for only a second, but it felt like a very long time. I turned then and darted to the other side of the road. I had a sinking feeling that it was a wasted attempt. The footsteps behind me were louder now.

"There you are!" The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the intense quiet and made me jump. In the gathering darkness, it seemed like he was looking past me.

"Yeah," a voice called loudly from behind me, making me jump again as I tried to hurry down the street. "We just took a little detour."

My steps had to slow now. I was closing the distance between myself and the lounging pair too quickly. I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn't sure how much volume I could manage. With a quick movement I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to surrender it or use it as weapon as need demanded.

The thickset man shrugged away from the wall as I warily came to a stop, and walked slowly into the street.

"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat — no volume.

"Don't be like that, sugar," he called, and the raucous laughter started again behind me.

I braced myself, feet apart, trying to remember through my panic what little self-defense I knew. Heel of the hand thrust upward, hopefully breaking the nose or shoving it into the brain. Finger through the eye socket — try to hook around and pop the eye out. And the standard knee to the groin, of course. That same pessimistic voice in my mind spoke up then, reminding me that I probably wouldn't have a chance against one of them, and there were four. Shut up! I commanded the voice before terror could incapacitate me. I wasn't going out without taking someone with me. I tried to swallow so I could build up a decent scream.

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stocky one, forcing him to jump back toward the sidewalk. I dove into the road — _this_ car was going to stop, or have to hit me. But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.

"Get in," a furious voice commanded.

It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me — even before I was off the street — as soon as I heard her voice. I jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.

It was dark in the car, no light had come on with the opening of the door, and I could barely see her face in the glow from the dashboard. The tires squealed as she spun around to face north, accelerating too quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. I caught a glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as we straightened out and sped toward the harbor.

"Put on your seat belt," she commanded, and I realized I was clutching the seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness. She took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.

But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going. I stared at her face in profound relief, relief that went beyond my sudden deliverance. I studied her flawless features in the limited light, waiting for my breath to return to normal, until it occurred to me that her expression was murderously angry.

"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.

"No," she said curtly, and her tone was livid.

I sat in silence, watching her face while her blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.

"Bonnie?" she asked, her voice tight, controlled.

"Yes?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.

"Are you all right?" She still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on her face.

"Yes," I croaked softly.

"Distract me, please," she ordered.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She exhaled sharply.

"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down," she clarified, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"Um." I wracked my brain for something trivial. "I'm going to run over Cinnbun Crowley tomorrow before school?"

She was still squeezing her eyes closed, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Why?"

"He's telling everyone that he's taking me to prom — either he's insane or he's still trying to make up for almost killing me last… well, you remember it, and he thinks _prom_ is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we're even, and he can't keep trying to make amends. I don't need enemies and maybe Lauren would back off if he left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though. If he doesn't have a ride he can't take anyone to prom…" I babbled on.

"I heard about that." She sounded a bit more composed.

" _You_ did?" I asked in disbelief, my previous irritation flaring. "If he's paralyzed from the neck down, he can't go to the prom, either," I muttered, refining my plan.

Marceline sighed, and finally opened her eyes.

"Better?"

"Not really."

I waited, but she didn't speak again. She leaned her head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. Her face was rigid.

"What's wrong?" My voice came out in a whisper.

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Bonnie." She was whispering, too, and as she stared out the window, her eyes narrowed into slits. "But it _wouldn't_ be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those…" She didn't finish her sentence, looking away, struggling for a moment to control her anger again. "At least," she continued, "that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"Oh." The word seemed inadequate, but I couldn't think of a better response.

We sat in silence again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was past six-thirty.

"Fiona and HDP will be worried," I murmured. "I was supposed to meet them."

She started the engine without another word, turning around smoothly and speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk. She parallel-parked against the curb in a space I would have thought much too small for the Volvo, but she slid in effortlessly in one try. I looked out the window to see the lights of La Bella Italia, and Fio and HDP just leaving, pacing anxiously away from us.

"How did you know where…?" I began, but then I just shook my head. I heard the door open and turned to see her getting out.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm taking you to dinner." She smiled slightly, but her eyes were hard. She stepped out of the car and slammed the door. I fumbled with my seat belt, and then hurried to get out of the car as well. She was waiting for me on the sidewalk.

She spoke before I could. "Go stop Fiona and HDP before I have to track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again."

I shivered at the threat in her voice.

"Fio! HDP!" I yelled after them, waving when they turned. They rushed back to me, the pronounced relief on both their faces simultaneously changing to surprise as they saw who I was standing next to. They hesitated a few feet from us.

"Where have you been?" Fiona's voice was suspicious.

"I got lost," I admitted sheepishly. "And then I ran into Marceline." I gestured toward her.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" she asked in her silken, irresistible voice. I could see from their staggered expressions that she had never unleashed her talents on them before.

"Er… sure," Fiona breathed.

"Um, actually, Bonnie, we already ate while we were waiting — sorry," HDP confessed.

"That's fine — I'm not hungry." I shrugged.

"I think you should eat something." Marceline's voice was low, but full of authority. She looked up at Fiona and spoke slightly louder. "Do you mind if I drive Bonnie home tonight? That way you won't have to wait while she eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess…" She bit her lip, trying to figure out from my expression whether that was what I wanted. I winked at her. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my perpetual savior. There were so many questions that I couldn't bombard her with till we were by ourselves.

"Okay." HDP was quicker than Fiona. "See you tomorrow, Bonnie… Marceline." She grabbed Fiona's hand and pulled her toward the car, which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street. As they got in, Fio turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. I waved back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned to face her.

"Honestly, I'm not hungry," I insisted, looking up to scrutinize her face. Her expression was unreadable.

"Humor me."

She walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an obstinate expression. Obviously, there would be no further discussion. I walked past her into the restaurant with a resigned sigh.

The restaurant wasn't crowded — it was the off-season in Port Angeles. The host was male, and I understood the look in his eyes as she assessed Marceline. He welcomed her a little more warmly than necessary. I was surprised by how much that bothered me. He was taller than I was, and unnaturally blond.

"A table for two?" Her voice was alluring, whether she was aiming for that or not. I saw his eyes flicker to me and then away, satisfied by my obvious ordinariness, and by the cautious, no-contact space Marceline kept between us. She led us to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor.

I was about to sit, but Marceline shook her head at me.

"Perhaps something more private?" she insisted quietly to the host. I wasn't sure, but it looked like she smoothly handed him a tip. I'd never seen anyone refuse a table except in old movies.

"Sure." He sounded as surprised as I was. He turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths — all of them empty. "How's this?"

"Perfect." She flashed her gleaming smile, dazing him momentarily.

"Um" — he shook her head, blinking — "your server will be right out." He walked away unsteadily.

"You really shouldn't do that to people," I criticized. "It's hardly fair."

"Do what?"

"Dazzle them like that — he's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

She seemed confused.

"Oh, come on," I said dubiously. "You _have_ to know the effect you have on people."

She tilted her head to one side, and her eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?"

"You haven't noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

She ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle _you_?"

"Frequently," I admitted.

And then our server arrived, his face expectant. The host had definitely dished behind the scenes, and this new one didn't look disappointed. He straightened up and smiled with unnecessary warmth.

"Hello. I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?" I didn't miss that he was speaking only to her.

She looked at me.

"I'll have a Coke." It sounded like a question.

"Two Cokes," she said.

"I'll be right back with that," he assured her with another unnecessary smile. But she didn't see it. She was watching me.

"What?" I asked when he left.

Her eyes stayed fixed on my face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I replied, surprised by her intensity.

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold…?"

"Should I?"

She chuckled at my puzzled tone.

"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock." Her face twisted up into that perfect crooked smile.

"I don't think that will happen," I said after I could breathe again. "I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things."

"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you."

Right on cue, the waiter appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. He stood with his back to me as he placed them on the table.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked Marceline.

"Bonnie?" she asked. He turned unwillingly toward me.

I picked the first thing I saw on the menu. "Um… I'll have the mushroom ravioli."

"And you?" He turned back to her with a smile.

"Nothing for me," she said. Of course not.

"Let me know if you change your mind." The coy smile was still in place, but she wasn't looking at him, and he left dissatisfied.

"Drink," she ordered.

I sipped at my soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised by how thirsty I was. I realized I had finished the whole thing when she pushed her glass toward me.

"Thanks," I muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy soda was radiating through my chest, and I shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just the Coke," I explained, shivering again.

"Don't you have a jacket?" Her voice was disapproving.

"Yes." I looked at the empty bench next to me. "Oh — I left it in Fiona's car," I realized.

Marceline was shrugging out of her jacket. I suddenly realized that I had never once noticed what she was wearing — not just tonight, but ever. I just couldn't seem to look away from her face. I made myself look now, focusing. She was removing a light beige leather jacket now; underneath she wore an ivory turtleneck sweater. It fit her snugly, emphasizing how muscular she was.

She handed me the jacket, interrupting my ogling.

"Thanks," I said again, sliding my arms into her jacket. It was cold — the way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, hanging in the drafty hallway. I shivered again. It smelled amazing. I inhaled, trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn't smell like cologne. The sleeves were much too long; I shoved them back so I could free my hands.

"That color blue looks lovely with your skin," she said, watching me. I was surprised; I looked down, blushing, of course.

She pushed the bread basket toward me.

"Really, I'm not going into shock," I protested.

"You should be — a _normal_ person would be. You don't even look shaken." She seemed unsettled. She stared into my eyes, and I saw how light her eyes were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, golden butterscotch.

"I feel very safe with you," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again.

That displeased her; her thin dark brow furrowed. She shook her head, frowning.

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," she murmured to himself.

I picked up a breadstick and began nibbling on the end, measuring her expression. I wondered when it would be okay to start questioning her.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," I commented, trying to distract her from whatever thought had left him frowning and somber.

She stared at me, stunned. "What?"

"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black — I expect it then," I went on. "I have a theory about that."

Her eyes narrowed. "More theories?"

"Mm-hm." I chewed on a small bite of the bread, trying to look indifferent.

"I hope you were more creative this time… or are you still stealing from comic books?" Her faint smile was mocking; her eyes were still tight.

"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it on my own, either," I confessed.

"And?" she prompted.

But then the waiter strode around the partition with my food. I realized we'd been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as he approached. He set the dish in front of me — it looked pretty good — and turned quickly to Marceline.

"Did you change your mind?" he asked. "Isn't there anything I can get you?" I may have been imagining the double meaning in his words.

"No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice." she gestured with a long white hand to the empty cups in front of me.

"Sure." He removed the empty glasses and walked away.

"You were saying?" she asked.

"I'll tell you about it in the car. If…" I paused.

"There are conditions?" She raised one eyebrow, her voice ominous.

"I do have a few questions, of course."

"Of course."

The waiter was back with two more Cokes. He sat them down without a word this time, and left again.

I took a sip.

"Well, go ahead," she pushed, her voice still hard.

I started with the most undemanding. Or so I thought. "Why are you in Port Angeles?"

She looked down, folding her large hands together slowly on the table. Her eyes flickered up at me from under her lashes, the hint of a smirk on her face.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one," I objected.

"Next," she repeated.

I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took another sip of Coke before I looked up.

"Okay, then." I glared at her, and continued slowly. "Let's say, hypothetically of course, that… someone… could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know — with a few exceptions."

"Just _one_ exception," she corrected, "hypothetically."

"All right, with one exception, then." I was thrilled that she was playing along, but I tried to seem casual.

"How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone… find someone else at exactly the right time? How would she know she was in trouble?" I wondered if my convoluted questions even made sense.

"Hypothetically?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Well, if… that someone…"

"Let's call him 'Mary,'" I suggested.

She smiled wryly. "Mary, then. If Mary had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Only _you_ could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"We were speaking of a hypothetical case," I reminded her frostily.

She laughed at me, her eyes warm.

"Yes, we were," she agreed. "Shall we call you 'Jane'?"

"How did you know?" I asked, unable to curb my intensity. I realized I was leaning toward her again.

She seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. Her eyes locked with mine, and I guessed she was making the decision right then whether or not to simply tell me the truth.

"You can trust me, you know," I murmured. I reached forward, without thinking, to touch her folded hands, but she slid them away minutely, and I pulled my hand back.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I was wrong — you're much more observant than I gave you credit for."

"I thought you were always right."

"I used to be." She shook her head again. "I was wrong about you on one other thing, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents — that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

"And you put yourself into that category?" I guessed.

Her face turned cold, expressionless. "Unequivocally."

I stretched my hand across the table again — ignoring her when she pulled back slightly once more — to touch the back of her hand shyly with my fingertips. Her skin was cold and hard, like a stone.

"Thank you." My voice was fervent with gratitude. "That's twice now."

Her face softened. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"

I scowled, but nodded. She moved her hand out from under mine, placing both of her under the table. But she leaned toward me.

"I followed you to Port Angeles" she admitted, speaking in a rush. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." She paused. I wondered if it should bother me that she was following me; instead I felt a strange surge of pleasure. She stared, maybe wondering why my lips were curving into an involuntary smile.

"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with fate?" I speculated, distracting myself.

"That wasn't the first time," she said, and her voice was hard to hear. I stared at her in amazement, but she was looking down. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

I felt a spasm of fear at her words, and the abrupt memory of her violent black glare that first day… but the overwhelming sense of safety I felt in her presence stifled it. By the time she looked up to read my eyes, there was no trace of fear in them.

"You remember?" she asked, her angel's face grave.

"Yes." I was calm.

"And yet here you sit." There was a trace of disbelief in his voice; she raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, here I sit… because of you." I paused. "Because somehow you knew how to find me today…?" I prompted.

She pressed her lips together, staring at me through narrowed eyes, deciding again. Her eyes flashed down to my full plate, and then back to me.

"You eat, I'll talk," she bargained.

I quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in my mouth.

"It's harder than it should be — keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." She looked at me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen. I made myself swallow, then stabbed another ravioli and tossed it in.

"I was keeping tabs on Fiona, not carefully — like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles — and at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south… and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street — to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious…" She was lost in thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine.

"I started to drive in circles, still… listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then —" She stopped, clenching her teeth together in sudden fury. She made an effort to calm himself.

"Then what?" I whispered. She continued to stare over my head.

"I heard what they were thinking," she growled, her upper lip curling slightly back over her teeth. "I saw your face in his mind." She suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, her hand covering her eyes. The movement was so swift it startled me.

"It was very… hard — you can't imagine how hard — for me to simply take you away, and leave them… alive." Her voice was muffled by her arm. "I could have let you go with Fiona and HDP, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them," she admitted in a whisper.

I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hands were folded in my lap, and I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. She still had her face in her hand, and she was as still as if she'd been carved from the stone her skin resembled.

Finally she looked up, her eyes seeking mine, full of her own questions.

"Are you ready to go home?" she asked.

"I'm ready to leave," I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hour-long ride home together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to her.

The waiter appeared as if he'd been called. Or watching.

"How are we doing?" he asked Marceline.

"We're ready for the check, thank you." Her voice was quiet, rougher, still reflecting the strain of our conversation. It seemed to muddle him. She looked up, waiting.

"S-sure," he stuttered. "Here you go." He pulled a small leather folder from the front pocket of his black apron and handed it to her.

There was a bill in her hand already. She slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to him.

"No change." She smiled. Then she stood up, and I scrambled awkwardly to my feet.

He smiled invitingly at her again. "You have a nice evening."

She didn't look away from me as she thanked him. I suppressed a smile.

She walked close beside me to the door, still careful not to touch me. I remembered what Fiona had said about her relationship with Marshall, how they were almost to the first-kiss stage. I sighed. Marceline seemed to hear me, and she looked down curiously. I looked at the sidewalk, grateful that she didn't seem to be able to know what I was thinking.

She opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in, shutting it softly behind me. I watched her walk around the front of the car, amazed, yet again, by how graceful she was. I probably should have been used to that by now — but I wasn't. I had a feeling Marceline wasn't the kind of person anyone got used to.

Once inside the car, she started the engine and turned the heater on high. It had gotten very cold, and I guessed the good weather was at an end. I was warm in her jacket, though, breathing in the scent of it when I thought she couldn't see.

Marceline pulled out through the traffic, apparently without a glance, flipping around to head toward the freeway.

"Now," she said significantly, "it's your turn."


	9. Theory

9\. Theory

"Can I ask just one more?" I pleaded as Marceline accelerated much too quickly down the quiet street. She didn't seem to be paying any attention to the road.

She sighed.

"One," she agreed. Her lips pressed together into a cautious line.

"Well… you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

She looked away, deliberating.

"I thought we were past all the evasiveness," I grumbled.

She almost smiled.

"Fine, then. I followed your scent." She looked at the road, giving me time to compose my face. I couldn't think of an acceptable response to that, but I filed it carefully away for future study. I tried to refocus. I wasn't ready to let her be finished, now that she was finally explaining things.

"And then you didn't answer one of my first questions…" I stalled.

She looked at me with disapproval. "Which one?"

"How does it work — the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family…?" I felt silly, asking for clarification on make-believe.

"That's more than one," she pointed out. I simply intertwined my fingers and gazed at her, waiting.

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's… 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." She paused thoughtfully. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum —a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear.

"Most of the time I tune it all out — it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem _normal"_ — she frowned as she said the word — "when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" I asked curiously.

She looked at me, her eyes enigmatic.

"I don't know," she murmured. "The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." She grinned at me, suddenly amused.

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" The words bothered me more than they should — probably because her speculation hit home. I'd always suspected as much, and it embarrassed me to have it confirmed.

"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that _you're_ the freak," she laughed. "Don't worry, it's just a theory…" Her face tightened. "Which brings us back to you."

I sighed. How to begin?

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?" she reminded me softly.

I looked away from her face for the first time, trying to find words. I happened to notice the speedometer.

"Holy cow!" I shouted. "Slow down!"

"What's wrong?" She was startled. But the car didn't decelerate.

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!" I was still shouting. I shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall — as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

"Relax, Bonnie." She rolled her eyes, still not slowing.

"Are you trying to kill us?" I demanded.

"We're not going to crash."

I tried to modulate my voice. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I always drive like this." She turned to smile crookedly at me.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"I've never been in an accident, Bonnie — I've never even gotten a ticket." She grinned and tapped her forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

"Very funny." I fumed. "Gummy's a cop, remember? I was raised to abide by traffic laws. Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away."

"Probably," she agreed with a short, hard laugh. "But you can't." She sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. "Happy?"

"Almost."

"I hate driving slow," she muttered.

"This is slow?"

"Enough commentary on my driving," she snapped. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."

I bit my lip. She looked down at me, her honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.

"I won't laugh," she promised.

"I'm more afraid that you'll be angry with me."

"Is it that bad?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

She waited. I was looking down at my hands, so I couldn't see her expression.

"Go ahead." Her voice was calm.

"I don't know how to start," I admitted.

"Why don't you start at the beginning… you said you didn't come up with this on your own."

"No."

"What got you started — a book? A movie?" she probed.

"No — it was Saturday, at the beach." I risked a glance up at her face. She looked puzzled.

"I ran into an old family friend —BMO Black," I continued. "His dad and Gummy have been friends since I was a baby."

She still looked confused.

"His dad is one of the Quileute elders." I watched her carefully. Her confused expression froze in place. "We went for a walk —" I edited all my scheming out of the story "— and he was telling me some old legends — trying to scare me, I think. He told me one…" I hesitated.

"Go on," she said.

"About vampires." I realized I was whispering. I couldn't look at her face now. But I saw her knuckles tighten convulsively on the wheel.

"And you immediately thought of me?" Still calm.

"No. He… mentioned your family."

She was silent, staring at the road.

I was worried suddenly, worried about protecting BMO.

"He just thought it was a silly superstition," I said quickly. "He didn't expect me to think anything of it." It didn't seem like enough; I had to confess. "It was my fault, I forced him to tell me."

"Why?"

"Lauren said something about you — she was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like he meant something different. So I got BMO alone and I tricked it out of him," I admitted, hanging my head.

She startled me by laughing. I glared up at her. She was laughing, but her eyes were fierce, staring ahead.

"Tricked him how?" she asked.

"I tried to flirt — it worked better than I thought it would." Disbelief colored my tone as I remembered.

"I'd like to have seen that." She chuckled darkly. "And you accused me of dazzling people — poor BMO Black."

I blushed and looked out my window into the night.

"What did you do then?" she asked after a minute.

"I did some research on the Internet."

"And did that convince you?" Her voice sounded barely interested. But her hands were clamped hard onto the steering wheel.

"No. Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…" I stopped.

"What?"

"I decided it didn't matter," I whispered.

"It didn't _matter_?" Her tone made me look up — I had finally broken through her carefully composed mask. Her face was incredulous, with just a hint of the anger I'd feared.

"No," I said softly. "It doesn't matter to me what you are."

A hard, mocking edge entered her voice. "You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not _human_!"

"No."

She was silent, staring straight ahead again. Her face was bleak and cold.

"You're angry," I sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," she said, but her tone was as hard as her face. "I'd rather know what you're thinking — even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So I'm wrong again?" I challenged.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It doesn't matter'!" she quoted, gritting her teeth together.

"I'm right?" I gasped.

"Does it _matter_?"

I took a deep breath.

"Not really." I paused. "But I _am_ curious." My voice, at least, was composed.

She was suddenly resigned. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she answered promptly.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

Her lips twitched as she stared at the road. "A while," she admitted at last.

"Okay." I smiled, pleased that she was still being honest with me. She stared down at me with watchful eyes, much as she had before, when she was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider in encouragement, and she frowned.

"Don't laugh — but how can you come out during the daytime?"

She laughed anyway. "Myth."

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"Myth." She hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered her voice. "I can't sleep."

It took me a minute to absorb that. "At all?"

"Never," she said, her voice nearly inaudible. She turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at her until she looked away.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." Her voice was hard now, and when she looked at me again her eyes were cold.

I blinked, still dazed. "Which one is that?"

"You aren't concerned about my diet?" she asked sarcastically.

"Oh," I murmured, "that."

"Yes, that." Her voice was bleak. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I flinched. "Well, BMO said something about that."

"What did BMO say?" she asked flatly.

"He said you didn't… hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"He said we weren't dangerous?" Her voice was deeply skeptical.

"Not exactly. He said you weren't _supposed_ to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

She looked forward, but I couldn't tell if she was watching the road or not.

"So was he right? About not hunting people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

"The Quileutes have a long memory," she whispered.

I took it as a confirmation.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," she warned me. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We try," she explained slowly. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?" I heard the sadness in my voice, but I didn't know if she could as well.

"A very dangerous one," she murmured.

We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn't look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with her like this again — openly, the walls between us gone for once. Her words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn't waste one minute I had with her.

"Tell me more," I asked desperately, not caring what she said, just so I could hear her voice again.

She looked at me quickly, startled by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation. I realized my eyes were wet, and I fought against the grief that was trying to overpower me.

"I don't _want_ to be a monster." Her voice was very low.

"But animals aren't enough?"

She paused. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger — or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." Her tone turned ominous. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" I asked.

She sighed. "Yes."

"But you're not hungry now," I said confidently — stating, not asking.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that people – surely vegetarian vampires more- are crabbier when they're hungry." I joked.

She chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"

I didn't answer; I just listened to the sound of her laugh, committing it to memory.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with Jake?" I asked when it was quiet again.

"Yes." She paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me… anxious… to be away from you." Her eyes were gentle but intense, and they seemed to be making my bones turn soft. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." She shook her head, and then seemed to remember something. "Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"Your hands," she reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. Her eyes missed nothing.

"I fell," I sighed.

"That's what I thought." Her lips curved up at the corners. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse — and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Jake's nerves." She smiled ruefully at me.

"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much disappointment I had suffered because of her absence.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight — at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," she promised.

I thought about it for a moment.

"You might have called me," I decided.

She was puzzled. "But I knew you were safe."

"But _I_ didn't know where _you_ were. I —" I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

"What?" Her velvety voice was compelling.

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too." I blushed to be saying this out loud.

She was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that her expression was pained.

"Ah," she groaned quietly. "This is wrong."

I couldn't understand her response. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see, Bonnie? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." She turned her anguished eyes to the road, her words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way." Her voice was low but urgent. Her words cut me. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Bonnie — please, grasp that."

"No." I tried very hard not to look like a sulky child.

"I'm serious," she growled.

"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter what you are. It's too late."

Her voice whipped out, low and harsh. "Never say that."

I bit my lip and was glad she couldn't know how much that hurt. I stared out at the road. We must be close now. She was driving much too fast.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel her gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward.

"Are you crying?" She sounded appalled. I hadn't realized the moisture in my eyes had brimmed over. I quickly rubbed my hand across my cheek, and sure enough, traitor tears were there, betraying me.

"No," I said, but my voice cracked.

I saw her reach toward me hesitantly with her right hand, but then she stopped and placed it slowly back on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry." Her voice burned with regret. I knew she wasn't just apologizing for the words that had upset me.

The darkness slipped by us in silence.

"Tell me something," he asked after another minute, and I could hear him struggle to use a lighter tone.

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression — you didn't look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker — you know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain." I thought of the dark-haired man with a surge of hate.

"You were going to fight them?" This upset her. "Didn't you think about running?"

"I fall down a lot when I run," I admitted.

"What about screaming for help?"

"I was getting to that part."

She shook her head. "You were right — I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive."

I sighed. We were slowing, passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I demanded.

"Yes — I have a paper due, too." She smiled. "I'll save you a seat at lunch."

It was silly, after everything we'd been through tonight, how that little promise sent flutters through my stomach, and made me unable to speak.

We were in front of Gummy's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. She stopped the car, but I didn't move.

"Do you _promise_ to be there tomorrow?"

"I promise."

I considered that for a moment, then nodded. I pulled her jacket off, taking one last whiff.

"You can keep it — you don't have a jacket for tomorrow," she reminded me.

I handed it back to her. "I don't want to have to explain to Gummy."

"Oh, right." She grinned.

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, trying to prolong the moment.

"Bonnie?" she asked in a different tone — serious, but hesitant.

"Yes?" I turned back to her too eagerly.

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yes," I said, and instantly regretted my unconditional agreement. What if she asked me to stay away from her? I couldn't keep that promise.

"Don't go into the woods alone."

I stared at her in blank confusion. "Why?"

She frowned, and her eyes were tight as she stared past me out the window.

"I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

I shuddered slightly at the sudden bleakness in her voice, but I was relieved. This, at least, was an easy promise to honor. "Whatever you say."

"I'll see you tomorrow," she sighed, and I knew she wanted me to leave now.

"Tomorrow, then." I opened the door unwillingly.

"Bonnie?" I turned and she was leaning toward me, her pale, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

"Sleep well," she said. Her breath blew in my face, stunning me. It was the same exquisite scent that clung to her jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, thoroughly dazed. She leaned away.

I was unable to move until my brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. Then I stepped out of the car awkwardly, having to use the frame for support. I thought I heard her chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain.

She waited till I had stumbled to the front door, and then I heard her engine quietly rev. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner. I realized it was very cold.

I reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Gummy called from the living room. "Bonnie?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me." I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game. "You're home early."

"Am I?" I was surprised.

"It's not even eight yet," he told me. "Did you girls have fun?"

"Yeah — it was lots of fun." My head was spinning as I tried to remember all the way back to the girls' night out I had planned. "They both found dresses."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking."

"Well, maybe you should go lie down." He sounded concerned. I wondered what my face looked like. "I'm just going to call Fiona first."

"Weren't you just with her?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes — but I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow."

"Well, give her a chance to get home first." "Right," I agreed.

I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. I was really feeling dizzy now. I wondered if I was going to go into shock after all. Get a grip, I told myself.

The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook. "Hello?" I asked breathlessly.

"Bonnie?"

"Hey, Fio, I was just going to call you."

"You made it home?" Her voice was relieved… and surprised.

"Yes. I left my jacket in your car — could you bring it to me tomorrow?" "Sure. But tell me what happened!" she demanded.

"Um, tomorrow — in Trig, okay?"

She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your dad there?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" I could hear the impatience in her voice.

"Bye, Fio."

I walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor clouding my mind. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing. It wasn't until I was in the shower — the water too hot, burning my skin — that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my rigid muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the hot water began to run out.

I stumbled out, wrapping myself securely in a towel, trying to hold the heat from the water in so the aching shivers wouldn't return. I dressed for bed swiftly and climbed under my quilt, curling into a ball, hugging myself to keep warm. A few small shudders trembled through me.

My mind still swirled dizzily, full of images I couldn't understand, and some I fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear at first, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Marceline was a vampire. Second, there was part of her — and I didn't know how potent that part might be — that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her.


	10. Interrogations

10\. Interrogations

It was very hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure last night was a dream. Logic wasn't on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn't have imagined — like his smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own.

It was foggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. She had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn't have a jacket. Further proof that my memory was real.

When I got downstairs, Gummy was gone again — I was running later than I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with milk straight from the carton, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find Fiona.

It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. The mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was a car in it: a silver car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time.

I didn't see where she came from, but suddenly she was there, pulling the door open for me.

"Do you want to ride with me today?" she asked, amused by my expression as she caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in her voice. She was really giving me a choice — I was free to refuse, and part of her hoped for that. It was a vain hope.

"Yes, thank you," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed her tan jacket was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner than should be possible, she was sitting next to me, starting the car.

"I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." Her voice was guarded. I noticed that she wore no jacket herself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with long sleeves. Again, the fabric clung to her perfectly fit top. It was a colossal tribute to her face that it kept my eyes away from her body.

"I'm not quite that delicate," I said, but I pulled the jacket onto my lap, pushing my arms through the too-long sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better.

"Aren't you?" she contradicted in a voice so low I wasn't sure if she meant for me to hear.

We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, always too fast, feeling awkward. I was, at least. Last night all the walls were down… almost all. I didn't know if we were still being as candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for her to speak.

She turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?"

"Do my questions bother you?" I asked, relieved.

"Not as much as your reactions do." She looked like she was joking, but I couldn't be sure.

I frowned. "Do I react badly?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly — it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"I always tell you what I'm really thinking."

"You edit," she accused.

"Not very much."

"Enough to drive me insane."

"You don't want to hear it," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope she hadn't noticed it.

She didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. Her face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly.

"Where's the rest of your family?" I asked — more than glad to be alone with her, but remembering that her car was usually full.

"They took Lady's car." She shrugged as she parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

"Um, wow," I breathed. "If she has _that_ , why does she ride with you?"

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We _try_ to blend in."

"You don't succeed." I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn't late anymore; her lunatic driving had gotten me to school in plenty of time. "So why did Lady drive today if it's more conspicuous?"

"Hadn't you noticed? I'm breaking _all_ the rules now." She met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. I wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch her, but I was afraid she wouldn't like me to.

"Why do you have cars like that at all?" I wondered aloud. "If you're looking for privacy?"

"An indulgence," she admitted with an impish smile. "We all like to drive fast."

"Figures," I muttered under my breath.

Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, Fiona was waiting, her eyes about to bug out of their sockets. Over her arm, bless her, was my jacket.

"Hey, Fiona," I said when we were a few feet away. "Thanks for remembering." She handed me my jacket without speaking.

"Good morning, Fiona," Marceline said politely. It wasn't really her fault that her voice was so irresistible. Or what her eyes were capable of.

"Er… hi." She shifted her wide eyes to me, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. "I guess I'll see you in Trig." She gave me a meaningful look, and I suppressed a sigh. What on earth was I going to tell her?

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

She walked away, pausing twice to peek back over her shoulder at us.

"What are you going to tell her?" Marceline murmured.

"Hey, I thought you couldn't read my mind!" I hissed.

"I can't," she said, startled. Then understanding brightened her eyes. "However, I can read hers — she'll be waiting to ambush you in class."

I groaned as I pulled off her jacket and handed it to her, replacing it with my own. She folded it over her arm.

"So what are you going to tell her?"

"A little help?" I pleaded. "What does she want to know?"

She shook her head, grinning wickedly. "That's not fair."

"No, you not sharing what you know — now _that's_ not fair."

She deliberated for a moment as we walked. We stopped outside the door to my first class.

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating. And she wants to know how you feel about me," she finally said.

"Yikes. What should I say?" I tried to keep my expression very innocent. People were passing us on their way to class, probably staring, but I was barely aware of them.

"Hmmm." She paused to catch a stray lock of hair that was escaping the twist on my neck and wound it back into place. My heart spluttered hyperactively. "I suppose you could say yes to the first… if you don't mind — it's easier than any other explanation."

"I don't mind," I said in a faint voice.

"And as for her other question… well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." One side of her mouth pulled up into my favorite uneven smile. I couldn't catch my breath soon enough to respond to that remark. She turned and walked away.

"I'll see you at lunch," she called over her shoulder. Three people walking in the door stopped to stare at me.

I hurried into class, flushed and irritated. She was such a cheater. Now I was even more worried about what I was going to say to Fiona. I sat in my usual seat, slamming my bag down in aggravation.

"Morning, Bonnie," Marshall said from the seat next to me. I looked up to see an odd, almost resigned look on his face. "How was Port Angeles?"

"It was…" There was no honest way to sum it up. "Great," I finished lamely. "Fiona got a really cute dress."

"Did she say anything about Monday night?" he asked, his eyes brightening. I smiled at the turn the conversation had taken.

"She said she had a really good time," I assured him.

"She did?" he said eagerly.

"Most definitely."

Mr. Mason called the class to order then, asking us to turn in our papers. English and then Government passed in a blur, while I worried about how to explain things to Fiona and agonized over whether Marceline would really be listening to what I said through the medium of Fio's thoughts. How very inconvenient his little talent could be — when it wasn't saving my life.

The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky.

Marceline was right, of course. When I walked into Trig Fiona was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible.

"Tell me everything!" she commanded before I was in the seat.

"What do you want to know?" I hedged.

"What happened last night?"

"She bought me dinner, and then she drove me home." She glared at me, her expression stiff with skepticism. "How did you get home so fast?"

"She drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." I hoped she heard that.

"Was it like a date — did you tell her to meet you there?"

I hadn't thought of that. "No — I was very surprised to see her there."

Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice. "But she picked you up for school today?" she probed.

"Yes — that was a surprise, too. She noticed I didn't have a jacket last night," I explained. "So are you going out again?"

"She offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because she thinks toy truck isn't up to it — does that count?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Well, then, yes."

"W-o-w." She exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Marceline Abadeer."

"I know," I agreed. "Wow" didn't even cover it.

"Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has she kissed you?"

"No," I mumbled. "It's not like that."

She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did, too. "I was almost sure she is into girls… Do you think Saturday…?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I really doubt it." The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised.

"What did you talk about?" She pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Varner wasn't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking.

"I don't know, Fio, lots of stuff," I whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little." A very, very little. I think she mentioned it in passing.

"Please, Bonnie," she begged. "Give me some details."

"Well… okay, I've got one. You should have seen the waiter flirting with her — it was over the top. But she didn't pay any attention to him at all." Let her make what she could of that.

"That's a good sign, as I thought, into girls" she nodded. "Was he handsome?"

"Very — and probably nineteen or twenty."

"Even better. She must like girls, I insist, and like you specially."

"I _think_ so, but it's hard to tell. She's always so cryptic," I threw in for her benefit, sighing.

"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with her," she breathed.

"Why?" I was shocked, but she didn't understand my reaction.

"She's so… intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to her." She made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when she'd turned the overwhelming force of her eyes on her.

"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around her," I admitted.

"Oh well. She _is_ unbelievably gorgeous." Fiona shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.

"There's a lot more to her than that."

"Really? Like what?"

I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping she'd been kidding about listening in.

"I can't explain it right… but she's even more unbelievable _behind_ the face." The vampire who wanted to be good — who ran around saving people's lives so she wouldn't be a monster… I stared toward the front of the room.

"Is _that possible_?" She giggled.

I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Varner.

"So you like her, then?" She wasn't about to give up.

"Yes," I said curtly.

"I mean, do you _really_ like her?" she urged.

"Yes," I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts.

She'd had enough with the single syllable answers. "How _much_ do you like her?"

"Too much," I whispered back. "More than she likes me. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, one blush blending into the next.

Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Fiona for an answer.

She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action.

"In English, Marshall asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her.

"You're kidding! What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked.

"I told him you said you had a lot of fun — he looked pleased."

"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!"

We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Marshall's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried about the subject returning to me.

And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my uplifted expression must have tipped Fiona off.

"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed.

"I don't _think_ so." I couldn't be sure that she wouldn't disappear inconveniently again.

But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall — looking more like a Greek goddess than anyone had a right to — Marceline was waiting for me. Fiona took one look, rolled her eyes, and departed.

"See you later, Bonnie." Her voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the phone.

"Hello." Her voice was amused and irritated at the same time. She had been listening, it was obvious.

"Hi."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, and she didn't speak — biding her time, I presumed — so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Marceline through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared.

She led the way into the line, still not speaking, though her eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in her face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket.

She stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.

"What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?"

She shook his head, stepping forward to buy the food.

"Half is for me, of course."

I raised one eyebrow.

She led the way to the same place we'd sat that one time before. From the other end of the long table, a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Marceline seemed oblivious.

"Take whatever you want," she said, pushing the tray toward me.

"I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, "what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

"You're always curious." She grimaced, shaking her head. She glared at me, holding my eyes as she lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" she asked condescendingly.

I wrinkled my nose. "I did once… on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad."

She laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch her attention.

"Fiona's analyzing everything I do — she'll break it down for you later." She pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Fiona brought a hint of her former irritation back to her features.

I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza, looking away, knowing she was about to start.

"So the waiter was handsome, wasn't he? I possibly couldn't like it, being gay and all" she asked casually.

"You really didn't notice? Not like I liked him or anything…"

"No. I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."

"Poor boy." I could afford to be generous now.

"Something you said to Fiona… well, it bothers me." She refused to be distracted. Her voice was husky, and she glanced up from under her lashes with troubled eyes.

"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers," I reminded her.

"I warned you I would be listening."

"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."

"You did," she agreed, but her voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking — everything. I just wish… that you wouldn't be thinking some things."

I scowled. "That's quite a distinction."

"But that's not really the point at the moment."

"Then what is?" We were inclined toward each other across the table now. She had her large white hands folded under her chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.

"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" she murmured, leaning closer to me as she spoke, her dark golden eyes piercing.

I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.

"You're doing it again," I muttered.

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"

"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at her.

"Oh." She frowned.

"It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it."

"Are you going to answer the question?"

I looked down. "Yes."

"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" She was irritated again.

"Yes, I really think that." I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing the pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at her expression.

Finally she spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong."

I glanced up to see that her eyes were gentle.

"You can't know that," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at her words and I wanted so badly to believe them.

"What makes you think so?" Her liquid topaz eyes were penetrating — trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind.

I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of her face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see her getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, she started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck, and held up one finger.

"Let me think," I insisted. Her expression cleared, now that she was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke.

"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes…" I hesitated. "I can't be sure — _I_ don't know how to read minds — but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that her words triggered in me at times.

"Perceptive," she whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as she confirmed my fear. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," she began to explain, but then her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"

"Well, look at me," I said, unnecessarily as she was already staring. "I'm absolutely ordinary — well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I'm almost disabled. And look at you." I waved my hand toward her and all her bewildering perfection.

Her brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as her eyes took on a knowing look. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," she chuckled blackly, "but you didn't hear what every human male in this school was thinking on your first day, I must also add some interested females in the list."

I blinked, astonished. "I don't believe it…" I mumbled to myself.

"Trust me just this once — you are the opposite of ordinary."

My embarrassment was much stronger than my pleasure at the look that came into her eyes when she said this. I quickly reminded her of my original argument.

"But I'm not saying goodbye," I pointed out.

"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it" — she shook her head, seeming to struggle with the thought — "if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."

I glared. "And you don't think I would do the same?"

"You'd never have to make the choice."

Abruptly, her unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged her features. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."

"No one has tried to do away with me today," I reminded her, grateful for the lighter subject. I didn't want her to talk about goodbyes anymore. If I had to, I supposed I could purposefully put myself in danger to keep her close… I banished that thought before her quick eyes read it on my face. That idea would definitely get me in trouble.

"Yet," she added.

"Yet," I agreed; I would have argued, but now I wanted her to be expecting disasters.

"I have another question for you." Her face was still casual.

"Shoot."

"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to _get_ out of saying no to all your admirers?"

I made a face at the memory. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Cinnbun thing yet," I warned her. "It's your fault that he's deluded himself into thinking I'm going to prom with him."

"Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without me — I just really wanted to watch your face," she chuckled, I would have been angrier if her laughter wasn't so fascinating. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned _me_ down?" she asked, still laughing to herself.

"Probably not," I admitted. "But I would have canceled later — faked an illness or a sprained ankle."

She was puzzled. "Why would you do that?"

I shook my head sadly. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand."

"Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Obviously."

"That wouldn't be a problem." She was very confident. "It's all in the leading." She could see that I was about to protest, and she cut me off. "But you never told me — are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"

As long as the "we" part was in, I didn't care about anything else.

"I'm open to alternatives," I allowed. "But I do have a favor to ask."

She looked wary, as she always did when I asked an open-ended question. "What?"

"Can I drive?"

She frowned. "Why?"

"Well, mostly because when I told Gummy I was going to Seattle, he specifically asked if I was going alone and, at the time, I was. If he asked again, I probably wouldn't lie, but I don't think he _will_ ask again, and leaving my truck at home would just bring up the subject unnecessarily. And also, because your driving frightens me."

She rolled her eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." She shook her head in disgust, but then her eyes were serious again. "Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" There was an undercurrent to her question that I didn't understand.

"With Gummy, less is always more." I was definite about that. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye… and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Again, she was leaving the choice up to me.

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" I asked, excited by the idea of unraveling another of the unknowns.

"Yes." She smiled, and then paused. "But if you don't want to be… alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."

I was miffed. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle — just in population. In physical size —"

"But apparently," she interrupted me, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me." Her eyes did that unfair smoldering thing again.

I couldn't argue, with the eyes or the motivation, and it was a moot point anyway. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

"I know," she sighed, brooding. "You should tell Gummy, though."

"Why in the world would I do that?"

Her eyes were suddenly fierce. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back."

I gulped. But, after a moment of thought, I was sure. "I think I'll take my chances."

She exhaled angrily, and looked away.

"Let's talk about something else," I suggested.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked. She was still annoyed.

I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone's hearing. As I cast my eyes around the room, I caught the eyes of her sister, Flame, staring at me. The others were looking at Marceline. I looked away swiftly, back to her, and I asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend… to hunt? Gummy said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears."

She stared at me as if I was missing something very obvious.

"Bears?" I gasped, and she smirked. "You know, bears are not in season," I added sternly, to hide my shock.

"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons," she informed me.

She watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in.

"Bears?" I repeated with difficulty.

"Grizzly is Jake's favorite." Her voice was still offhand, but her eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together.

"Hmmm," I said, taking another bite of pizza as an excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, and then took a long drink of Coke without looking up.

"So," I said after a moment, finally meeting her now-anxious gaze. "What's your favorite?"

She raised an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth turned down in disapproval. "Mountain lion."

"Ah," I said in a politely disinterested tone, looking for my soda again.

"Of course," she said, and her tone mirrored mine, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators — ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?"

She smiled teasingly.

"Where indeed," I murmured around another bite of pizza.

"Early spring is Jake's favorite bear season — they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." She smiled at some remembered joke.

"Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear," I agreed, nodding.

She snickered, shaking her head. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

"I'm trying to picture it — but I can't," I admitted. "How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

"Oh, we have weapons." She flashed her bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. I fought back a shiver before it could expose me. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Jake hunting."

I couldn't stop the next shiver that flashed down my spine. I peeked across the cafeteria toward Jake, grateful that he wasn't looking my way. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more menacing now.

Marceline followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared at her, unnerved.

"Are you like a bear, too?" I asked in a low voice.

"More like the lion, or so they tell me," she said lightly. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

I tried to smile. "Perhaps," I repeated. But my mind was filled with opposing images that I couldn't merge together. "Is that something I might get to see?"

"Absolutely not!" Her face turned even whiter than usual, and her eyes were suddenly furious. I leaned back, stunned and — though I'd never admit it to her — frightened by her reaction. She leaned back as well, folding her arms across her chest.

"Too scary for me?" I asked when I could control my voice again.

"If that were it, I would take you out tonight," she said, her voice cutting. "You _need_ a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you."

"Then why?" I pressed, trying to ignore her angry expression.

She glared at me for a long minute.

"Later," she finally said. She was on her feet in one lithe movement. "We're going to be late."

I glanced around, startled to see that she was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with her, the time and the place were such a muddled blur that I completely lost track of both. I jumped up, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair.

"Later, then," I agreed. I wouldn't forget.


	11. Complications

11\. Complications

Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticed that she no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, she sat quite close beside me, our arms almost touching.

Mr. Banner backed into the room then — what superb timing the man had — pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdated TV and VCR. A movie day — the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible.

Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wall to turn off the lights.

And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Marceline was sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be _more_ aware of her than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch her, to stroke her perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was losing my mind.

The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes, of their own accord, flickered to her. I smiled sheepishly as I realized her posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under her arms, right down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. She grinned back, her eyes somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should feel dizzy.

The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie — I didn't even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but the electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in her body never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance in her direction, but she never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering craving to touch her also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my stiff fingers. Marceline chuckled beside me.

"Well, that was interesting," she murmured. Her voice was dark and her eyes were cautious.

"Umm," was all I was able to respond.

"Shall we?" she asked, rising fluidly.

I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us.

She walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned to say goodbye. Her face startled me — her expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch her flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat.

She raised her hand, hesitant, conflict raging in her eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with her fingertips. Her skin was as icy as ever, but the trail her fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm — like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet.

She turned without a word and strode quickly away from me.

I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. I could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. Coach Clapp ordered us to pair up into teams.

Mercifully, some vestiges of Marshall's chivalry still survived; he came to stand beside me.

"Do you want to be a team?"

"Thanks, Marshall — you don't have to do this, you know." I grimaced apologetically.

"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." He grinned. Sometimes it was so easy to like Marshall.

It didn't go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip Marshall's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behind my back. Despite being handicapped by me, Marshall was pretty good; he won three games out of four single handedly. He gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

"So," he said as we walked off the court.

"So what?"

"You and Abadeer, huh?" he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feeling of affection disappeared.

"That's none of your business, Marshall," I warned, internally cursing Fiona straight to the fiery pits of Hades.

"I don't like it," he muttered anyway.

"You don't have to," I snapped.

"She looks at you like… like you're something to eat," she continued, ignoring me.

I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small giggle managed to _get_ out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved and fled to the locker room.

I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Marshall already a distant memory. I was wondering if Marceline would be waiting, or if I should meet her at her car. What if her family was there? I felt a wave of real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew, or not?

By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walk straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worries were unnecessary. Marceline was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the gym, her breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to her side, I felt a peculiar sense of release.

"Hi," I breathed, smiling hugely.

"Hello." Her answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"

My face fell a tiny bit. "Fine," I lied.

"Really?" She was unconvinced. Her eyes shifted their focus slightly, looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Marshall's back as she walked away.

"What?" I demanded.

Her eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "Lee's getting on my nerves."

"You weren't listening again?" I was horror-struck. All traces of my sudden good humor vanished.

"How's your head?" she asked innocently.

"You're unbelievable!" I turned, stomping away in the general direction of the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point.

She kept up with me easily.

"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym — it made me curious." She didn't sound repentant, so I ignored her.

We walked in silence — a furious, embarrassed silence on my part — to her car. But I had to stop a few steps away — a crowd of people, all boys, were surrounding it.

Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actually circled around Lady's red convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. None of them even looked up as Marceline slid between them to open her door. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed.

"Ostentatious," she muttered.

"What kind of car is that?" I asked.

"An M3."

"I don't speak _Car and Driver_."

"It's a BMW." She rolled her eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out without running over the car enthusiasts.

I nodded — I'd heard of that one.

"Are you still angry?" she asked as she carefully maneuvered her way out.

"Definitely."

She sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"

"Maybe… if you mean it. _And_ if you promise not to do it again," I insisted.

Her eyes were suddenly shrewd. "How about if I mean it, _and_ I agree to let you drive Saturday?" she countered my conditions.

I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get. "Deal," I agreed.

"Then I'm very sorry I upset you." Her eyes burned with sincerity for a protracted moment — playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart — and then turned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning."

"Um, it doesn't help with the Gummy situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway."

Her smile was condescending now. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."

"How —"

She cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car."

I let it go. I had a more pressing question.

"Is it later yet?" I asked significantly.

She frowned. "I supposed it is later."

I kept my expression polite as I waited.

She stopped the car. I looked up, surprised — of course we were already at Gummy's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with her if I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at her, she was staring at me, measuring with her eyes.

"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" She seemed solemn, but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in her eyes.

"Well," I clarified, "I was mostly wondering about your reaction."

"Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there.

"No," I lied. She didn't buy it.

"I apologize for scaring you," she persisted with a slight smile, but then all evidence of teasing disappeared. "It was just the very thought of you being there… while we hunted." Her jaw tightened.

"That would be bad?"

She spoke from between clenched teeth. "Extremely."

"Because…?"

She took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

"When we hunt," she spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over to our senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…"

She shook her head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.

I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash of her eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothing away.

But our eyes held, and the silence deepened — and changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as she gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, she closed her eyes.

"Bonnie, I think you should go inside now." Her low voice was rough, her eyes on the clouds again.

I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

"Oh, Bonnie?" she called after me, her voice more even. She leaned toward the open window with a faint smile on her lips.

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

She smiled wider, flashing her gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

And then she was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear she was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else.

That night Marceline starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on my brown turtleneck and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of spaghetti straps and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Gummy fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if she had forgotten about this Saturday. She answered my unspoken question as she stood up to take her plate to the sink.

"About this Saturday…" he began, walking across the kitchen and turning on the faucet.

I cringed. "Yes, Dad?"

"Are you still set on going to Seattle?" he asked.

"That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"

"I'm not going to the dance, Dad." I glared.

"Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusing on rinsing the plate.

I sidestepped the minefield. "It's a girl's choice."

"Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.

I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living in fear that your daughter would meet a boy or girl she liked, but also having to worry if she didn't. How ghastly it would be, I thought, shuddering, if Gummy had even the slightest inkling of exactly what I _did_ like.

Gummy left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silver car was already there, waiting in Gummy's spot on the driveway. I bounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this bizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end.

She waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the dead-bolt. I walked to the car, pausing shyly before opening the door and stepping in. She was smiling, relaxed — and, as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree.

"Good morning." Her voice was silky. "How are you today?" Her eyes roamed over my face, as if her question was something more than simple courtesy.

"Good, thank you." I was always good — much more than good — when I was near her.

Her gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired."

"I couldn't sleep," I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around my shoulder to provide some measure of cover.

"Neither could I," she teased as she started the engine. I was becoming used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me, whenever I got to drive it again.

I laughed. "I guess that's right. I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did."

"I'd wager you did."

"So what did you do last night?" I asked.

She chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" My forehead creased. I couldn't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting to her.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, her face grave.

I rolled my eyes. "It changes from day to day."

"What's your favorite color today?" She was still solemn.

"Probably brown." I tended to dress according to my mood.

She snorted, dropping her serious expression. "Brown?" she asked skeptically.

"Sure. Brown is warm. I _miss_ brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown — tree trunks, rocks, dirt— is all covered up with squashy green stuff here," I complained.

She seemed fascinated by my little rant. She considered for a moment, staring into my eyes.

"You're right," she decided, serious again. "Brown is warm." She reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to sweep my hair back behind my shoulder.

We were at the school by now. She turned back to me as she pulled into a parking space.

"What music is in your CD player right now?" she asked, her face as somber as if she'd asked for a murder confession.

I realized I'd never removed the CD Gunter had given me. When I said the name of the band, she smiled crookedly, a peculiar expression in her eyes. She flipped open a compartment under her car's CD player, pulled out one of thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it to me.

"Debussy to this?" She raised an eyebrow.

It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyes down.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While she walked me to English, when she met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, she questioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, sexual orientation, the few places I'd been and the many places I wanted to go, and books — endlessly books.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often than not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring her. But the absolute absorption of her face, and her never-ending stream of questions, compelled me to continue. Mostly her questions were easy, only a very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it brought on a whole new round of questions.

Such as the time she asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topaz before thinking. She'd been flinging questions at me with such speed that I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer with the first word that comes to mind. I was sure she would have continued down whatever mental list she was following, except for the blush. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favorite gemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into her topaz eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, she wouldn't rest until I'd admitted why I was embarrassed.

"Tell me," she finally commanded after persuasion failed — failed only because I kept my eyes safely away from her face.

"It's the color of your eyes today," I sighed, surrendering, staring down at my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. "I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I'd say onyx." I'd given more information than necessary in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was.

But her pause was very short.

"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" she fired off.

I sighed in relief, and continued with the psychoanalysis.

Biology was a complication again. Marceline had continued with her quizzing up until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frame again. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Marceline slide her chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch her cold skin, as yesterday.

I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my hidden fingers gripping the table's edge as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that unsettled me. I didn't look at her, afraid that if she was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I sincerely tried to watch the movie, but at the end of the hour I had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr. Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Marceline; she was looking at me, her eyes ambivalent.

She rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, she touched my face wordlessly — this time with the back of her cool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw — before she turned and walked away.

Gym passed quickly as I watched Marshall's one-man badminton show. He didn't speak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or because he was still angry about our squabble yesterday. Somewhere, in a corner of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on him.

I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved, the sooner I would be with Marceline. The pressure made me more clumsy than usual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release when I saw her standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading across my face. She smiled in reaction before launching into more cross-examination.

Her questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. She wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything she wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Gummy's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge.

I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote — bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant— the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery bar redness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me — to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to her.

Her quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at home, she paused instead of responding with another question.

"Are you finished?" I asked in relief.

"Not even close — but your father will be home soon."

"Gummy!" I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out at the rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. "How late is it?" I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time — Gummy would be driving home now.

"It's twilight," Marceline murmured, looking at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. Her voice was thoughtful, as if her mind were somewhere far away. I stared at her as she gazed unseeingly out the windshield.

I was still staring when her eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.

"It's the safest time of day for us," she said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" She smiled wistfully.

"I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." I frowned. "Not that you see them here much."

She laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

"Gummy will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday…" She raised one eyebrow.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from sitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

"Certainly not!" Her face was teasingly outraged. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?"

"You'll find out tomorrow." She reached across to open my door for me, and her sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations.

But her hand froze on the handle.

"Not good," she muttered.

"What is it?" I was surprised to see that her jaw was clenched, her eyes disturbed.

She glanced at me for a brief second. "Another complication," she said glumly.

She flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost cringed, swiftly away from me.

The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us.

"Gummy's around the corner," she warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle.

I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was louder as it glanced off my jacket.

I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Marceline illuminated in the glare of the new car's headlights; she was still staring ahead, her gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. Her expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance.

Then she revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.

"Hey, Bonnie," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of the little black car.

"BMO?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Gummy's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me.

BMO was already climbing out, his wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man with a memorable face — a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his shoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in BMO's father, Hugwo Black. I knew him immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed to forget his name when Gummy had spoken of him my first day here. He was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smile faded.

Another complication, Marceline had said.

Hugwo still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groaned internally. Had Hugwo recognized Marceline so easily? Could he really believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Hugwo's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.


	12. Balancing

12\. Balancing

"Hugwo!" Gummy called as soon as he got out of the car.

I turned toward the house, beckoning to BMO as I ducked under the porch. I heard Gummy greeting them loudly behind me.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you behind the wheel, Jake," he said disapprovingly.

"We get permits early on there," BMO said while I unlocked the door and flicked on the porch light.

"Sure you do," Gummy laughed.

"I have to _get_ around somehow." I recognized Hugwo's resonant voice easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger, a child.

I went inside, leaving the door open behind me and turning on lights before I hung up my jacket. Then I stood in the door, watching anxiously as Gummy and BMO helped Hugwo out of the car and into his wheelchair.

I backed out of the way as the three of them hurried in, shaking off the rain.

"This is a surprise," Gummy was saying.

"It's been too long," Hugwo answered. "I hope it's not a bad time." His dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable.

"No, it's great. I hope you can stay for the game."

BMO grinned. "I think that's the plan — our TV broke last week."

Hugwo made a face at his son. "And, of course, BMO was anxious to see Bonnie again," he added. BMO scowled and ducked his head while I fought back a surge of remorse. Maybe I'd been too convincing on the beach.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, turning toward the kitchen. I was eager to escape Hugwo's searching gaze.

"Naw, we ate just before we came," BMO answered.

"How about you, Gummy?" I called over my shoulder as I fled around the corner.

"Sure," he replied, his voice moving in the direction of the front room and the TV. I could hear Hugwo's chair follow.

The grilled cheese sandwiches were in the frying pan and I was slicing up a tomato when I sensed someone behind me.

"So, how are things?" BMO asked.

"Pretty good." I smiled. His enthusiasm was hard to resist. "How about you? Did you finish your car?"

"No." He frowned. "I still need parts. We borrowed that one." He pointed with his thumb in the direction of the front yard.

"Sorry. I haven't seen any… what was it you were looking for?"

"Master cylinder." He grinned. "Is something wrong with the truck?" he added suddenly.

"No."

"Oh. I just wondered because you weren't driving it."

I stared down at the pan, pulling up the edge of a sandwich to check the bottom side. "I got a ride with a friend."

"Nice ride." BMO's voice was admiring. "I didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here."

I nodded noncommittally, keeping my eyes down as I flipped sandwiches.

"My dad seemed to know him from somewhere."

"BMO, could you hand me some plates? They're in the cupboard over the sink.

"Sure."

He got the plates in silence. I hoped he would let it drop now.

"So who was it?" he asked, setting two plates on the counter next to me.

I sighed in defeat. "Marceline Abadeer."

To my surprise, he laughed. I glanced up at him. He looked a little embarrassed.

"Guess that explains it, then," he said. "I wondered why my dad was acting so strange."

"That's right." I faked an innocent expression. "He doesn't like the Abadeers."

"Superstitious old man," BMO muttered under his breath.

"You don't think he'd say anything to Gummy?" I couldn't help asking, the words coming out in a low rush.

BMO stared at me for a moment, and I couldn't read the expression in his dark eyes. "I doubt it," he finally answered. "I think Gummy chewed him out pretty good last time. They haven't spoken much since— tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. I don't think he'd bring it up again."

"Oh," I said, trying to sound indifferent.

I stayed in the front room after I carried the food out to Gummy, pretending to watch the game while BMO chattered at me. I was really listening to the men's conversation, watching for any sign that Hugwo was about to rat me out, trying to think of ways to stop him if he began.

It was a long night. I had a lot of homework that was going undone, but I was afraid to leave Hugwo alone with Gummy. Finally, the game ended.

"Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" BMO asked as he pushed his father over the lip of the threshold.

"I'm not sure," I hedged.

"That was fun, Gummy," Hugwo said.

"Come up for the next game," Gummy encouraged.

"Sure, sure," Hugwo said. "We'll be here. Have a good night." His eyes shifted to mine, and his smile disappeared. "You take care, Bonnie," he added seriously.

"Thanks," I muttered, looking away.

I headed for the stairs while Gummy waved from the doorway.

"Wait, Bonnie," he said.

I cringed. Had Hugwo gotten something in before I'd joined them in the living room?

But Gummy was relaxed, still grinning from the unexpected visit.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to you tonight. How was your day?"

"Good." I hesitated with one foot on the first stair, searching for details I could safely share. "My badminton team won all four games."

"Wow, I didn't know you could play badminton."

"Well, actually I can't, but my partner is really good," I admitted.

"Who is it?" he asked with token interest.

"Um… Marshall Lee," I told him reluctantly.

"Oh yeah — you said you were friends with the Lee kid." He perked up. "Nice family." He mused for a minute. "Why didn't you ask him to the dance this weekend?"

"Dad!" I groaned. "He's kind of dating my friend Fiona. Besides, you know I can't dance."

"Oh yeah," he muttered. Then he smiled at me apologetically. "So I guess it's good you'll be gone Saturday… I've made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather's supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put your trip off till someone could go with you, I'd stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much."

"Dad, you're doing a great job." I smiled, hoping my relief didn't show. "I've never minded being alone— I'm too much like you." I winked at him, and he smiled his crinkly-eyed smile.

I slept better that night, too tired to dream again. When I woke to the pearl gray morning, my mood was blissful. The tense evening with Hugwo and BMO seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling while I was pulling the front part of my hair back into a barrette, and later again as I skipped down the stairs. Gummy noticed.

"You're cheerful this morning," he commented over breakfast.

I shrugged. "It's Friday."

I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Gummy left. I had my bag ready, shoes on, teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Gummy would be out of sight, Marceline was faster. She was waiting in her shiny car, windows down, engine off.

I didn't hesitate this time, climbing in the passenger side quickly, the sooner to see her face. She grinned her crooked smile at me, stopping my breath and my heart. I couldn't imagine how an angel could be any more glorious. There was nothing about her that could be improved upon.

"How did you sleep?" she asked. I wondered if she had any idea how appealing her voice was.

"Fine. How was your night?"

"Pleasant." Her smile was amused; I felt like I was missing an inside joke.

"Can I ask what you did?" I asked.

"No." She grinned. "Today is still _mine_."

She wanted to know about people today: more about Bubble, her hobbies, what we'd done in our free time together. And then the one grandmother I'd known, my few school friends — embarrassing me when she asked about boys or girls I'd dated. I was relieved that I'd never really dated anyone, so that particular conversation couldn't last long. She seemed as surprised as Fiona and HDP by my lack of romantic history.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?" she asked in a serious tone that made me wonder what she was thinking about.

I was grudgingly honest. "Not in Phoenix"

Her lips pressed together into a hard line.

We were in the cafeteria at this point. The day had sped by in the blur that was rapidly becoming routine. I took advantage of her brief pause to take a bite of my bagel.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," she announced, apropos of nothing, while I chewed.

"Why?" I demanded.

"I'm leaving with Flame after lunch."

"Oh." I blinked, bewildered and disappointed. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk."

She frowned at me impatiently. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you."

"I don't have my key with me," I sighed. "I really don't mind walking." What I minded was losing my time with her.

She shook her head. "Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition — unless you're afraid someone might steal it." She laughed at the thought.

"All right," I agreed, pursing my lips. I was pretty sure my key was in the pocket of a pair of jeans I wore Wednesday, under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. Even if she broke into my house, or whatever she was planning, she'd never find it. She seemed to feel the challenge in my consent. She smirked, overconfident.

"So where are you going?" I asked as casually as I could manage.

"Hunting," she answered grimly. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." Her face grew morose… and pleading. "You can always cancel, you know."

I looked down, afraid of the persuasive power of her eyes. I refused to be convinced to fear her, no matter how real the danger might be. _It doesn't matter_ , I repeated in my head.

"No," I whispered, glancing back at her face. "I can't."

"Perhaps you're right," she murmured bleakly. Her eyes seemed to darken in color as I watched.

I changed the subject. "What time will I see you tomorrow?" I asked, already depressed by the thought of her leaving now.

"That depends… it's a Saturday, don't you want to sleep in?" she offered.

"No," I answered too fast. She restrained a smile.

"The same time as usual, then," she decided. "Will Gummy be there?"

"No, he's fishing tomorrow." I beamed at the memory of how conveniently things had worked out.

Her voice turned sharp. "And if you don't come home, what will he think?"

"I have no idea," I answered coolly. "He knows I've been meaning to do the laundry. Maybe he'll think I fell in the washer."

She scowled at me and I scowled back. Her anger was much more impressive than mine.

"What are you hunting tonight?" I asked when I was sure I had lost the glowering contest.

"Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far." She seemed bemused by my casual reference to her secret realities.

"Why are you going with Flame?" I wondered.

"Flame is the most… supportive." She frowned as she spoke.

"And the others?" I asked timidly. "What are they?"

Her brow puckered for a brief moment. "Incredulous, for the most part."

I peeked quickly behind me at her family. They sat staring off in different directions, exactly the same as the first time I'd seen them. Only now they were four; their beautiful, dark-haired sister sat across from me, her golden eyes troubled.

"They don't like me," I guessed.

"That's not it," she disagreed, but her eyes were too innocent. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

I grimaced. "Neither do I, for that matter."

Marceline shook her head slowly, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling before she met my gaze again. "I told you — you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever known. You fascinate me."

I glared at her, sure she was teasing now.

She smiled as she deciphered my expression. "Having the advantages I do," she murmured, touching her forehead discreetly, "I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you… you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

I looked away, my eyes wandering back to her family, embarrassed and dissatisfied. Her words made me feel like a science experiment. I wanted to laugh at myself for expecting anything else.

"That part is easy enough to explain," she continued. I felt her eyes on my face but I couldn't look at her yet, afraid she might read the chagrin in my eyes. "But there's more… and it's not so easy to put into words —"

I was still staring at the Abadeers while she spoke. Suddenly Lady, her blond and breathtaking sister, turned to look at me. No, not to look — to glare, with dark, cold eyes. I wanted to look away, but her gaze held me until Marceline broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under her breath. It was almost a hiss.

Lady turned her head, and I was relieved to be free. I looked back at Marceline — and I knew she could see the confusion and fear that widened my eyes.

Her face was tight as she explained. "I'm sorry about that. She's just worried. You see… it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly…" She looked down.

"If?"

"If this ends… badly." She dropped her head into her hands, as she had that night in Port Angeles. Her anguish was plain; I yearned to comfort her, but I was at a loss to know how. My hand reached toward her involuntarily; quickly, though, I dropped it to the table, fearing that my touch would only make things worse. I realized slowly that her words should frighten me. I waited for that fear to come, but all I could seem to feel was an ache for her pain.

And frustration — frustration that Lady had interrupted whatever she was about to say. I didn't know how to bring it up again. She still had her head in her hands.

I tried to speak in a normal voice. "And you have to leave now?"

"Yes." She raised her face; it was serious for a moment, and then her mood shifted and she smiled. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology — I don't think I could take any more."

I started. Flame — her short, inky hair in a halo of spiky disarray around her exquisite, elfin face — was suddenly standing behind his shoulder. Her slight frame was willowy, graceful even in absolute stillness.

She greeted her without looking away from me. "Flame."

"Marceline," she answered, her high soprano voice almost as attractive as her.

"Flame, Bonnie — Bonnie, Flame," she introduced us, gesturing casually with her hand, a wry smile on her face.

"Hello, Bonnie." Her brilliant obsidian eyes were unreadable, but her smile was friendly. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Marceline flashed a dark look at her.

"Hi, Flame ," I murmured shyly.

"Are you ready?" she asked her sister.

Her voice was aloof. "Nearly. I'll meet you at the car."

She left without another word; her walk was so fluid, so sinuous that I felt a sharp pang of jealousy.

"Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?" I asked, turning back to her.

"No, 'have fun' works as well as anything." She grinned.

"Have fun, then." I worked to sound wholehearted. Of course I didn't fool her.

"I'll try." She still grinned. "And you try to be safe, please."

"Safe in Forks — what a challenge."

"For you it _is_ a challenge." Her jaw hardened. "Promise."

"I promise to try to be safe," I recited. "I'll do the laundry tonight — that ought to be fraught with peril."

"Don't fall in," she mocked.

"I'll do my best."

She stood then, and I rose, too.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I sighed.

"It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" she mused.

I nodded glumly.

"I'll be there in the morning," she promised, smiling her crooked smile. She reached across the table to touch my face, lightly brushing along my cheekbone again. Then she turned and walked away. I stared after her until she was gone.

I was sorely tempted to ditch the rest of the day, at the very least Gym, but a warning instinct stopped me. I knew that if I disappeared now, Marshall and others would assume I was with Marceline. And Marceline was worried about the time we'd spent together publicly… if things went wrong. I refused to dwell on the last thought, concentrating instead on making things safer for her.

I intuitively knew — and sensed she did, too — that tomorrow would be pivotal. Our relationship couldn't continue to balance, as it did, on the point of a knife. We would fall off one edge or the other, depending entirely upon her decision, or her instincts. My decision was made, made before I'd ever consciously chosen, and I was committed to seeing it through. Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more excruciating, than the thought of turning away from her. It was an impossibility.

I went to class, feeling dutiful. I couldn't honestly say what happened in Biology; my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. In Gym, Marshall was speaking to me again; he wished me a good time in Seattle. I carefully explained that I'd canceled my trip, worried about my truck.

"Are you going to the dance with Abadeer?" he asked, suddenly sulky.

"No, I'm not going to the dance at all."

"What are you doing, then?" he asked, too interested.

My natural urge was to tell him to butt out. Instead, I lied brightly.

"Laundry, and then I have to study for the Trig test or I'm going to fail."

"Is Abadeer helping you study?"

" _Marceline_ ," I emphasized, "is not going to help me study. She's gone away somewhere for the weekend." The lies came more naturally than usual, I noted with surprise.

"Oh." He perked up. "You know, you could come to the dance with our group anyway — that would be cool. We'd all dance with you," he promised.

The mental image of Fiona's face made my tone sharper than necessary.

"I'm _not_ going to the dance, Marshall, okay?"

"Fine." He sulked again. "I was just offering."

When the school day had finally ended, I walked to the parking lot without enthusiasm. I did not especially want to walk home, but I couldn't see how she would have retrieved my truck. Then again, I was starting to believe that nothing was impossible for him. The latter instinct proved correct — my truck sat in the same space she'd parked his Volvo in this morning. I shook my head, incredulous, as I opened the unlocked door and saw the key in the ignition.

There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. I got in and closed the door before I unfolded it. Two words were written in her elegant script.

 _Be safe._

The sound of the truck roaring to life frightened me. I laughed at myself.

When I got home, the handle of the door was locked, the dead bolt unlocked, just as I'd left it this morning. Inside, I went straight to the laundry room. It looked just the same as I'd left it, too. I dug for my jeans and, after finding them, checked the pockets. Empty. Maybe I'd hung my key up after all, I thought, shaking my head.

Following the same instinct that had prompted me to lie to Marshall, I called Fiona on the pretense of wishing her luck at the dance. When she offered the same wish for my day with Marceline, I told her about the cancellation. She was more disappointed than really necessary for a third-party observer to be. I said goodbye quickly after that.

Gummy was absentminded at dinner, worried over something at work, I guessed, or maybe a basketball game, or maybe he was just really enjoying the lasagna — it was hard to tell with Gummy.

"You know, Dad…" I began, breaking into his reverie.

"What's that, Bon?"

"I think you're right about Seattle. I think I'll wait until Fiona or someone else can go with me."

"Oh," he said, surprised. "Oh, okay. So, do you want me to stay home?"

"No, Dad, don't change your plans. I've got a million things to do… homework, laundry… I need to go to the library and the grocery store. I'll be in and out all day… you go and have fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, Dad. Besides, the freezer is getting dangerously low on fish — we're down to a two, maybe three years' supply."

"You're sure easy to live with, Bonnie." He smiled.

"I could say the same thing about you," I said, laughing. The sound of my laughter was off, but he didn't seem to notice. I felt so guilty for deceiving him that I almost took Marceline's advice and told him where I would be. Almost.

After dinner, I folded clothes and moved another load through the dryer. Unfortunately it was the kind of job that only keeps hands busy. My mind definitely had too much free time, and it was getting out of control. I fluctuated between anticipation so intense that it was very nearly pain, and an insidious fear that picked at my resolve. I had to keep reminding myself that I'd made my choice, and I wasn't going back on it. I pulled her note out of my pocket much more often than necessary to absorb the two small words she'd written. She wants me to be safe, I told myself again and again. I would just hold on to the faith that, in the end, that desire would win out over the others. And what was my other choice — to cut her out of my life? Intolerable. Besides, since I'd come to Forks, it really seemed like my life was _about_ her.

But a tiny voice in the back of my mind worried, wondering if it would hurt _very_ much… if it ended badly.

I was relieved when it was late enough to be acceptable for bedtime. I knew I was far too stressed to sleep, so I did something I'd never done before. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine — the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I normally wouldn't condone that type of behavior in myself, but tomorrow would be complicated enough without me being loopy from sleep deprivation on top of everything else. While I waited for the drugs to kick in, I dried my clean hair till it was impeccably straight, and fussed over what I would wear tomorrow. With everything ready for the morning, I finally lay in my bed. I felt hyper; I couldn't stop twitching. I got up and rifled through my shoebox of CDs until I found a collection of Chopin's nocturnes. I put that on very quietly and then lay down again, concentrating on relaxing individual parts of my body. Somewhere in the middle of that exercise, the cold pills took effect, and I gladly sank into unconsciousness.

I woke early, having slept soundly and dreamlessly thanks to my drug use. Though I was well rested, I slipped right back into the same hectic frenzy from the night before. I dressed in a rush, smoothing my collar against my neck, fidgeting with the tan sweater till it hung right over my jeans. I sneaked a swift look out the window to see that Gummy was gone. A thin layer of clouds veiled the sky. They didn't look very lasting.

I ate breakfast without tasting the food, hurrying to clean up when I was done. I peeked out the window again, but nothing had changed. I had just finished brushing my teeth and was heading back downstairs when a quiet knock sent my heart thudding against my rib cage.

I flew to the door; I had a little trouble with the simple dead bolt, but I yanked the door open at last, and there she was. All the agitation dissolved as soon as I looked at her face, calm taking its place. I breathed a sigh of relief — yesterday's fears seemed very foolish with her here.

She wasn't smiling at first — her face was somber. But then her expression lightened as she looked me over, and she laughed.

"Good morning," she chuckled.

"What's wrong?" I glanced down to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything important, like shoes, or pants.

"We match." She laughed again. I realized she had a long, light tan sweater on, with a white collar showing underneath, and tight dark jeans. I laughed with her, hiding a secret twinge of regret — why did she have to look like a runway model when I couldn't?

I locked the door behind me while she walked to the truck. She waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to understand.

"We made a deal," I reminded her smugly, climbing into the driver's seat, and reaching over to unlock her door.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Put your seat belt on — I'm nervous already."

I gave her a dirty look as I complied.

"Where to?" I repeated with a sigh.

"Take the one-oh-one north" she ordered.

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling her gaze on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

"This truck is old enough to be your car's grandfather — have some respect," I retorted.

We were soon out of the town limits, despite her negativity. Thick underbrush and green-swathed trunks replaced the lawns and houses.

"Turn right on the one-ten," she instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed silently. "Now we drive until the pavement ends."

I could hear a smile in her voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving her right to look over and be sure.

"And what's there, at the pavement's end?" I wondered. "A trail."

"We're hiking?" Thank goodness I'd worn tennis shoes.

"Is that a problem?" She sounded as if she'd expected as much.

"No." I tried to make the lie sound confident. But if she thought my truck was slow… "Don't worry, it's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry."

Five miles. I didn't answer, so that she wouldn't hear my voice crack in panic. Five miles of treacherous roots and loose stones, trying to twist my ankles or otherwise incapacitate me. This was going to be humiliating.

We drove in silence for a while as I contemplated the coming horror. "What are you thinking?" she asked impatiently after a few moments. I lied again. "Just wondering where we're going."

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds after he spoke.

"Gummy said it would be warm today."

"And did you tell Gummy what you were up to?" she asked. "Nope."

"But Fiona thinks we're going to Seattle together?" She seemed cheered by the idea. "No, I told her you canceled on me — which is true."

"No one knows you're with me?" Angrily, now. "That depends… I assume you told Flame?"

"That's very helpful, Bonnie," she snapped.

I pretended I didn't hear that.

"Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?" she demanded when I ignored her.

"You said it might cause trouble for you… us being together publicly," I reminded her.

"So you're worried about the trouble it might cause _me_ — _if you_ don't come _home_?" Her voice was still angry, and bitingly sarcastic.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.

She muttered something under her breath, speaking so quickly that I couldn't understand.

We were silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of infuriated disapproval rolling off of her, and I could think of nothing to say.

And then the road ended, constricting to a thin foot trail with a small wooden marker. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, afraid because she was angry with me and I didn't have driving as an excuse not to look at her. It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I'd arrived, almost muggy under the clouds. I pulled off my sweater and knotted it around my waist, glad that I'd worn the light, sleeveless shirt — especially if I had five miles of hiking ahead of me.

I heard her door slam, and looked over to see that she'd removed her sweater, too. She was facing away from me, into the unbroken forest beside my truck.

"This way," she said, glancing over her shoulder at me, eyes still annoyed. She started into the dark forest.

"The trail?" Panic was clear in my voice as I hurried around the truck to catch up to her.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"No trail?" I asked desperately.

"I won't let you get lost." She turned then, with a mocking smile, and I stifled a gasp. Her white shirt was sleeveless, and she wore it unbuttoned, so that the smooth white skin of her smooth throat flowed uninterrupted over the marble contours of her chest, her perfect cleavage no longer merely hinted at behind concealing clothes. She was too perfect, I realized with a piercing stab of despair. There was no way this godlike creature could be meant for me.

She stared at me, bewildered by my tortured expression.

"Do you want to go home?" she said quietly, a different pain than mine saturating her voice.

"No." I walked forward till I was close beside her, anxious not to waste one second of whatever time I might have with her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, his voice gentle.

"I'm not a good hiker," I answered dully. "You'll have to be very patient."

"I can be patient — if I make a great effort." She smiled, holding my glance, trying to lift me out of my sudden, unexplained dejection.

I tried to smile back, but the smile was unconvincing. She scrutinized my face.

"I'll take you home," she promised. I couldn't tell if the promise was unconditional, or restricted to an immediate departure. I knew she thought it was fear that upset me, and I was grateful again that I was the one person whose mind she couldn't hear.

"If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way," I said acidly. She frowned at me, struggling to understand my tone and expression.

She gave up after a moment and led the way into the forest.

It wasn't as hard as I had feared. The way was mostly flat, and she held the damp ferns and webs of moss aside for me. When her straight path took us over fallen trees or boulders, she would help me, lifting me by the elbow, and then releasing me instantly when I was clear. Her cold touch on my skin never failed to make my heart thud erratically. Twice, when that happened, I caught a look on her face that made me sure she could somehow hear it.

I tried to keep my eyes away from her perfection as much as possible, but I slipped often. Each time, her beauty pierced me through with sadness.

For the most part, we walked in silence. Occasionally she would ask a random question that she hadn't gotten to in the past two days of interrogation. She asked about my birthdays, my grade school teachers, my childhood pets — and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a row, I'd given up on the whole institution. She laughed at that, louder than I was used to — bell-like echoes bouncing back to us from the empty woods.

The hike took me most of the morning, but she never showed any sign of impatience. The forest spread out around us in a boundless labyrinth of ancient trees, and I began to be nervous that we would never find our way out again. She was perfectly at ease, comfortable in the green maze, never seeming to feel any doubt about our direction.

After several hours, the light that filtered through the canopy transformed, the murky olive tone shifting to a brighter jade. The day had turned sunny, just as she'd foretold. For the first time since we'd entered the woods, I felt a thrill of excitement — which quickly turned to impatience.

"Are we there yet?" I teased, pretending to scowl.

"Nearly." She smiled at the change in my mood. "Do you see the brightness ahead?"

I peered into the thick forest. "Um, should I?"

She smirked. "Maybe it's a bit soon for _your_ eyes."

"Time to visit the optometrist," I muttered. Her smirk grew more pronounced. But then, after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow instead of green. I picked up the pace, my eagerness growing with every step. She let me lead now, following noiselessly.

I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last fringe of ferns into the loveliest place I had ever seen. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers — violet, yellow, and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I walked slowly, awestruck, through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. I halfway turned, wanting to share this with her, but she wasn't behind me where I thought she'd be. I spun around, searching for her with sudden alarm. Finally I spotted her, still under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching me with cautious eyes. Only then did I remember what the beauty of the meadow had driven from my mind — the enigma of Marceline and the sun, which she'd promised to illustrate for me today.

I took a step back toward her, my eyes alight with curiosity. Her eyes were wary, reluctant. I smiled encouragingly and beckoned to her with my hand, taking another step back to her. She held up a hand in warning, and I hesitated, rocking back onto my heels.

Marceline seemed to take a deep breath, and then she stepped out into the bright glow of the midday sun.


	13. Confessions

13\. Confessions

Marceline in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn't _get_ used to it, though I'd been staring at her all afternoon. Her skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday's hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. She lay perfectly still in the grass, her shirt open over her sculpted, perfectly proportioned chest, her strong arms bare. Her glistening, pale lavender lids were shut, though of course she didn't sleep. A perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal.

Now and then, her lips would move, so fast it looked like they were trembling. But, when I asked, she told me she was singing to herself; it was too low for me to hear.

I enjoyed the sun, too, though the air wasn't quite dry enough for my taste. I would have liked to lie back, as she did, and let the sun warm my face. But I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees, unwilling to take my eyes off her. The wind was gentle; it tangled my hair and ruffled the grass that swayed around her motionless form.

The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to her magnificence.

Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that she would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real… hesitantly, I reached out one finger and stroked the back of her shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as stone. When I looked up again, her eyes were open, watching me. Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. Her quick smile turned up the corners of her flawless lips.

"I don't scare you?" she asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in her soft voice.

"No more than usual."

She smiled wider; her teeth flashed in the sun.

I inched closer, stretched out my whole hand now to trace the contours of her forearm with my fingertips. I saw that my fingers trembled, and knew it wouldn't escape her notice.

"Do you mind?" I asked, for she had closed her eyes again.

"No," she said without opening her eyes. "You can't imagine how that feels." She sighed.

I lightly trailed my hand over the perfect muscles of her arm, followed the faint pattern of bluish veins inside the crease at her elbow. With my other hand, I reached to turn her hand over. Realizing what I wished, she flipped her palm up in one of those blindingly fast, disconcerting movements of her. It startled me; my fingers froze on her arm for a brief second.

"Sorry," she murmured. I looked up in time to see her golden eyes close again. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

I lifted her hand, turning it this way and that as I watched the sun glitter on her palm. I held it closer to my face, trying to see the hidden facets in her skin.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she whispered. I looked to see her eyes watching me, suddenly intent. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"You know, the rest of us feel that way all the time."

"It's a hard life." Did I imagine the hint of regret in her tone? "But you didn't tell me."

"I _was_ wishing I could know what you were thinking…" I hesitated.

"And?"

"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing that I wasn't afraid."

"I don't want you to be afraid." Her voice was just a soft murmur. I heard what she couldn't truthfully say, that I didn't need to be afraid, that there was nothing to fear.

"Well, that's not exactly the fear I meant, though that's certainly something to think about."

So quickly that I missed her movement, she was half sitting, propped up on her right arm, her left palm still in my hands. Her angel's face was only a few inches from mine. I might have — should have — flinched away from her unexpected closeness, but I was unable to move. Her golden eyes mesmerized me.

"What are you afraid of, then?" she whispered intently.

But I couldn't answer. As I had just that once before, I smelled her cool breath in my face. Sweet, delicious, the scent made my mouth water. It was unlike anything else. Instinctively, unthinkingly, I leaned closer, inhaling.

And she was gone, her hand ripped from mine. In the time it took my eyes to focus, she was twenty feet away, standing at the edge of the small meadow, in the deep shade of a huge fir tree. She stared at me, her eyes dark in the shadows, her expression unreadable.

I could feel the hurt and shock on my face. My empty hands stung.

"I'm… sorry… Marceline," I whispered. I knew she could hear.

"Give me a moment," she called, just loud enough for my less sensitive ears. I sat very still.

After ten incredibly long seconds, she walked back, slowly for her. She stopped, still several feet away, and sank gracefully to the ground, crossing her legs. Her eyes never left mine. She took two deep breaths, and then smiled in apology.

"I am so very sorry." She hesitated. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

I nodded once, not quite able to smile at her joke. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as the realization of danger slowly sank in. She could smell that from where she sat. Her smile turned mocking.

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I? Everything about me invites you in — my voice, my face, even my _smell._ As if I need any of that!" Unexpectedly, she was on her feet, bounding away, instantly out of sight, only to appear beneath the same tree as before, having circled the meadow in half a second.

"As if you could outrun me," she laughed bitterly.

She reached up with one hand and, with a deafening crack, effortlessly ripped a two-foot-thick branch from the trunk of the spruce. She balanced it in that hand for a moment, and then threw it with blinding speed, shattering it against another huge tree, which shook and trembled at the blow.

And she was in front of me again, standing two feet away, still as a stone.

"As if you could fight me off," she said gently.

I sat without moving, more frightened of her than I had ever been. I'd never seen her so completely freed of that carefully cultivated facade. She'd never been less human… or more beautiful. Face ashen, eyes wide, I sat like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake.

Her lovely eyes seem to glow with rash excitement. Then, as the seconds passed, they dimmed. Her expression slowly folded into a mask of ancient sadness.

"Don't be afraid," she murmured, her velvet voice unintentionally seductive. "I promise…" She hesitated. "I _swear_ not to hurt you." She seemed more concerned with convincing herself than me.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered again as she stepped closer, with exaggerated slowness. She sat sinuously, with deliberately unhurried movements, till our faces were on the same level, just a foot apart.

"Please forgive me," she said formally. "I _can_ control myself. You caught me off guard. But I'm on my best behavior now."

She waited, but I still couldn't speak.

"I'm not thirsty today, honestly." She winked.

At that I had to laugh, though the sound was shaky and breathless.

"Are you all right?" she asked tenderly, reaching out slowly, carefully, to place her marble hand back in mine.

I looked at her smooth, cold hand, and then at her eyes. They were soft, repentant. I looked back at her hand, and then deliberately returned to tracing the lines in her hand with my fingertip. I looked up and smiled timidly.

Her answering smile was dazzling.

"So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?" she asked in the gentle cadences of an earlier century.

"I honestly can't remember."

She smiled, but her face was ashamed. "I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Oh, right."

"Well?" I looked down at her hand and doodled aimlessly across her smooth, iridescent palm. The seconds ticked by.

"How easily frustrated I am," she sighed. I looked into her eyes, abruptly grasping that this was every bit as new to her as it was to me. As many years of unfathomable experience as she had, this was hard for her, too. I took courage from that thought.

"I was afraid… because, for, well, obvious reasons, I can't _stay_ with you. And I'm afraid that I'd like to stay with you, much more than I should." I looked down at her hands as I spoke. It was difficult for me to say this aloud.

"Yes," she agreed slowly. "That is something to be afraid of, indeed. Wanting to be with me. That's really not in your best interest."

I frowned.

"I should have left long ago," she sighed. "I should leave now. But I don't know if I can."

"I don't want you to leave," I mumbled pathetically, staring down again.

"Which is exactly why I should. But don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should."

"I'm glad."

"Don't be!" She withdrew her hand, more gently this time; her voice was harsher than usual. Harsh for her, still more beautiful than any human voice. It was hard to keep up — her sudden mood changes left me always a step behind, dazed.

"It's not only your company I crave! Never forget _that_. Never forget I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else." She stopped, and I looked to see her gazing unseeingly into the forest.

I thought for a moment. "I don't think I understand exactly what you mean — by that last part anyway," I said.

She looked back at me and smiled, her mood shifting yet again.

"How do I explain?" she mused. "And without frightening you again…hmmmm." Without seeming to think about it, she placed her hand back in mine; I held it tightly in both of mine. She looked at our hands.

"That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth." She sighed.

A moment passed as she assembled her thoughts.

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" she began. "Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?"

I nodded.

"Sorry about the food analogy — I couldn't think of another way to explain."

I smiled. She smiled ruefully back.

"You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, he'd gladly drink it. But he could resist, if he wished to, if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac — and filled the room with its warm aroma — how do you think he would fare then?"

We sat silently, looking into each other's eyes — trying to read each other's thoughts.

She broke the silence first.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."

"So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

She smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. "Yes, you are _exactly_ my brand of heroin."

"Does that happen often?" I asked.

She looked across the treetops, thinking through his response.

"I spoke to my brothers about it." She still stared into the distance. "To Finn, every one of you is much the same. He's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor." She glanced swiftly at me, her expression apologetic.

"Sorry," she said.

"I don't mind. Please don't worry about offending me, or frightening me, or whichever. That's the way you think. I can understand, or I can try to at least. Just explain however you can."

She took a deep breath and gazed at the sky again.

"So Finn wasn't sure if he'd ever come across someone who was as" — she hesitated, looking for the right word — " _appealing_ as you are to me. Which makes me think not. Jake has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says twice, for him, once stronger than the other."

"And for you?"

"Never."

The word hung there for a moment in the warm breeze.

"What did Jake do?" I asked to break the silence.

It was the wrong question to ask. Her face grew dark, her hand clenched into a fist inside mine. She looked away. I waited, but she wasn't going to answer.

"I guess I know," I finally said.

She lifted her eyes; her expression was wistful, pleading.

"Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?"

"What are you asking? My permission?" My voice was sharper than I'd intended. I tried to make my tone kinder — I could guess what her honesty must cost her. "I mean, is there no hope, then?" How calmly I could discuss my own death!

"No, no!" She was instantly contrite. "Of course there's hope! I mean, of course I won't…" She left the sentence hanging. Her eyes burned into mine. "It's different for us. Jake… these were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as… practiced, as careful, as he is now."

She fell silent and watched me intently as I thought it through.

"So if we'd met… oh, in a dark alley or something…" I trailed off.

"It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and-" She stopped abruptly, looking away. "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Hudson has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last, well, too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself." She paused, scowling at the trees.

She glanced at me grimly, both of us remembering. "You must have thought I was possessed."

"I couldn't understand why. How you could hate me so quickly…"

"To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. The fragrance coming off your skin… I thought it would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow…"

She looked up then at my staggered expression as I tried to absorb her bitter memories. Her golden eyes scorched from under her lashes, hypnotic and deadly.

"You would have come," she promised.

I tried to speak calmly. "Without a doubt."

She frowned down at my hands, releasing me from the force of her stare. "And then, as I tried to rearrange my schedule in a pointless attempt to avoid you, you were there — in that close, warm little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there — so easily dealt with."

I shivered in the warm sun, seeing my memories anew through her eyes, only now grasping the danger. Poor Ms. Cope; I shivered again at how close I'd come to being inadvertently responsible for her death.

"But I resisted. I don't know how. I forced myself _not_ to wait for you, _not_ to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn't smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home — I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong — and then I went straight to Hudson, at the hospital, to tell him I was leaving."

I stared in surprise.

"I traded cars with him — he had a full tank of gas and I didn't want to stop. I didn't dare to go home, to face Madalyn. She wouldn't have let me go without a scene. She would have tried to convince me that it wasn't necessary…

"By the next morning I was in Alaska." She sounded ashamed, as if admitting a great cowardice. "I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances… but I was homesick. I hated knowing I'd upset Madalyn, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant little girl" — she grinned suddenly — "to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back…" She stared off into space.

I couldn't speak.

"I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure that I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about it.

"It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn't simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn't used to having to go to such circuitous measures, listening to your words in Fiona's mind… her mind isn't very original, and it was annoying to have to stoop to that. And then I couldn't know if you really meant what you said. It was all extremely irritating." She frowned at the memory.

"I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I would with any person. I was eager actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions… and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand or your hair, and the scent would stun me again…

"Of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at that moment — because if I hadn't saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don't think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are.

But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, 'Not her.'"

She closed her eyes, lost in her agonized confession. I listened, more eager than rational. Common sense told me I should be terrified. Instead, I was relieved to finally understand. And I was filled with compassion for her suffering, even now, as she confessed her craving to take my life.

I finally was able to speak, though my voice was faint. "In the hospital?"

Her eyes flashed up to mine. "I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power — you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you." We both flinched as that word slipped out. "But it had the opposite effect," she continued quickly. "I fought with Lady, Jake, and Finn when they suggested that now was the time… the worst fight we've ever had. Hudson sided with me, and Flame." She grimaced when she said her name. I couldn't imagine why. "Madalyn told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay." She shook her head indulgently.

"All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn't understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn't become more involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath, your hair… it hit me as hard as the very first day."

She met my eyes again, and they were surprisingly tender.

"And for all that," she continued, "I'd have fared better if I _had_ exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here — with no witnesses and nothing to stop me — I were to hurt you."

I was human enough to have to ask. "Why?"

"Bonnibel." She pronounced my full name carefully, then playfully ruffled my hair with her free hand. A shock ran through my body at her casual touch. "Bonnie, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." She looked down, ashamed again. "The thought of you, still, white, cold… to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses… it would be unendurable." She lifted her glorious, agonized eyes to mine. "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

My head was spinning at the rapid change in direction our conversation had taken. From the cheerful topic of my impending demise, we were suddenly declaring ourselves. She waited, and even though I looked down to study our hands between us, I knew her golden eyes were on me. "You already know how I feel, of course," I finally said. "I'm here… which, roughly translated, means I would rather die than stay away from you." I frowned. "I'm an idiot."

"You _are_ an idiot," she agreed with a laugh. Our eyes met, and I laughed, too. We laughed together at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of such a moment.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…" she murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word.

"What a stupid lamb," I sighed.

"What a sick, masochistic lion." She stared into the shadowy forest for a long moment, and I wondered where her thoughts had taken her.

"Why…?"I began, and then paused, not sure how to continue.

She looked at me and smiled; sunlight glinted off her face, her teeth.

"Yes?"

"Tell me why you ran from me before."

Her smile faded. "You know why."

"No, I mean, _exactly_ what did I do wrong? I'll have to be on my guard, you see, so I better start learning what I shouldn't do. This, for example" — I stroked the back of her hand — "seems to be all right."

She smiled again. "You didn't do anything wrong, Bonnie. It was my fault."

"But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you."

"Well…" She contemplated for a moment. "It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness … I wasn't expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your _throat_." She stopped short, looking to see if she'd upset me.

"Okay, then," I said flippantly, trying to alleviate the suddenly tense atmosphere. I tucked my chin. "No throat exposure."

It worked; she laughed. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else."

She raised her free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I sat very still, the chill of her touch a natural warning — a warning telling me to be terrified. But there was no feeling of fear in me. There were, however, other feelings…

"You see," she said. "Perfectly fine."

My blood was racing, and I wished I could slow it, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult — the thudding of my pulse in my veins. Surely she could hear it.

"The blush on your cheeks is lovely," she murmured. She gently freed her other hand. My hands fell limply into my lap. Softly she brushed my cheek, then held my face between her marble hands.

"Be very still," she whispered, as if I wasn't already frozen.

Slowly, never moving her eyes from mine, she leaned toward me. Then abruptly, but very gently, she rested her cold cheek against the hollow at the base of my throat. I was quite unable to move, even if I'd wanted to. I listened to the sound of her even breathing, watching the sun and wind play in her ebony hair, more human than any other part of her.

With deliberate slowness, her hands slid down the sides of my neck. I shivered, and I heard her catch her breath. But her hands didn't pause as they softly moved to my shoulders, and then stopped.

Her face drifted to the side, her nose skimming across my collarbone. She came to rest with the side of her face pressed tenderly against my chest. Listening to my heart.

"Ah," she sighed.

I don't know how long we sat without moving. It could have been hours. Eventually the throb of my pulse quieted, but she didn't move or speak again as she held me. I knew at any moment it could be too much, and my life could end — so quickly that I might not even notice. And I couldn't make myself be afraid. I couldn't think of anything, except that she was touching me.

And then, too soon, she released me.

Her eyes were peaceful.

"It won't be so hard again," she said with satisfaction.

"Was that very hard for you?"

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?"

"No, it wasn't bad… for me."

She smiled at my inflection. "You know what I mean."

I smiled.

"Here." She took my hand and placed it against her cheek. "Do you feel how warm it is?"

And it was almost warm, her usually icy skin. But I barely noticed, for I was touching her face, something I'd dreamed of constantly since the first day I'd seen her.

"Don't move," I whispered.

No one could be still like Marceline. She closed her eyes and became as immobile as stone, a carving under my hand.

I moved even more slowly than she had, careful not to make one unexpected move. I caressed her cheek, delicately stroked her eyelid, the purple shadow in the hollow under her eye. I traced the shape of her perfect nose, and then, so carefully, her flawless lips. Her lips parted under my hand, and I could feel her cool breath on my fingertips. I wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of her. So I dropped my hand and leaned away, not wanting to push her too far.

She opened her eyes, and they were hungry. Not in a way to make me fear, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of my stomach and send my pulse hammering through my veins again.

"I wish," she whispered, "I wish you could feel the… complexity… the confusion… I feel. That you could understand."

She raised her hand to my hair, then carefully brushed it across my face.

"Tell me," I breathed.

"I don't think I can. I've told you, on the one hand, the hunger — the thirst — that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though" — she half-smiled — "as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely.

"But…" Her fingers touched my lips lightly, making me shiver again. "There are other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand, that are foreign to me."

"I may understand _that_ better than you think."

"I'm not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?"

"For me?" I paused. "No, never. Never before this."

She held my hands between hers. They felt so feeble in her iron strength.

"I don't know how to be close to you," she admitted. "I don't know if I can."

I leaned forward very slowly, cautioning her with my eyes. I placed my cheek against her stone breasts. I could hear her breath, and nothing else.

"This is enough," I sighed, closing my eyes.

In a very human gesture, she put her arms around me and pressed her face against my hair.

"You're better at this than you give yourself credit for," I noted.

"I have human instincts — they may be buried deep, but they're there."

We sat like that for another immeasurable moment; I wondered if she could be as unwilling to move as I was. But I could see the light was fading, the shadows of the forest beginning to touch us, and I sighed.

"You have to go."

"I thought you couldn't read my mind."

"It's getting clearer." I could hear a smile in her voice.

She took my shoulders and I looked into her face.

"Can I show you something?" she asked, sudden excitement flaring in her eyes.

"Show me what?"

"I'll show you how _I_ travel in the forest." She saw my expression. "Don't worry, you'll be very safe, and we'll get to your truck much faster." Her mouth twitched up into that crooked smile so beautiful my heart nearly stopped.

"Will you turn into a bat?" I asked warily.

She laughed, louder than I'd ever heard. "Like I haven't heard _that_ one before!"

"Right, I'm sure you get that all the time."

"Come on, little coward, climb on my back."

I waited to see if she was kidding, but, apparently, she meant it. She smiled as she read my hesitation, and reached for me. My heart reacted; even though she couldn't hear my thoughts, my pulse always gave me away. She then proceeded to sling me onto her back, with very little effort on my part, besides, when in place, clamping my legs and arms so tightly around her that it would choke a normal person. It was like clinging to a stone.

"I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," I warned.

"Hah!" she snorted. I could almost hear her eyes rolling. I'd never seen her in such high spirits before.

She startled me, suddenly grabbing my hand, pressing my palm to her face, and inhaling deeply.

"Easier all the time," she muttered.

And then she was running.

If I'd ever feared death before in her presence, it was nothing compared to how I felt now.

She streaked through the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that her feet touched the earth, like floating. Her breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly speeds, always missing us by inches.

I was too terrified to close my eyes, though the cool forest air whipped against my face and burned them. I felt as if I were stupidly sticking my head out the window of an airplane in flight. And, for the first time in my life, I felt the dizzy faintness of motion sickness.

Then it was over. We'd hiked hours this morning to reach Marceline's meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, we were back to the truck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" Her voice was high, excited.

She stood motionless, waiting for me to climb down. I tried, but my muscles wouldn't respond. My arms and legs stayed locked around her while my head spun uncomfortably.

"Bonnie?" she asked, anxious now.

"I think I need to lie down," I gasped.

"Oh, sorry." She waited for me, but I still couldn't move.

"I think I need help," I admitted.

She laughed quietly, and gently unloosened my stranglehold on her neck. There was no resisting the iron strength of her hands. Then she pulled me around to face her, cradling me in her arms like a small child. She held me for a moment, then carefully placed me on the springy ferns.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

I couldn't be sure how I felt when my head was spinning so crazily. "Dizzy, I think."

"Put your head between your knees."

I tried that, and it helped a little. I breathed in and out slowly, keeping my head very still. I felt her sitting beside me. The moments passed, and eventually I found that I could raise my head. There was a hollow ringing sound in my ears.

"I guess that wasn't the best idea," she mused.

I tried to be positive, but my voice was weak. "No, it was very interesting."

"Hah! You're as white as a ghost — no, you're as white as _me_!"

"I think I should have closed my eyes."

"Remember that next time."

"Next time!" I groaned.

She laughed, her mood still radiant.

"Show-off," I muttered.

"Open your eyes, Bonnie," she said quietly.

And she was right there, her face so close to mine. Her beauty stunned my mind — it was too much, an excess I couldn't grow accustomed to.

"I was thinking, while I was running…" She paused.

"About not hitting the trees, I hope."

"Silly Bonnie," she chuckled. "Running is second nature to me, it's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," I muttered again.

She smiled.

"No," she continued, "I was thinking there was something I wanted to try." And she took my face in her hands again.

I couldn't breathe.

She hesitated — not in the normal way, the human way.

Not the way someone might hesitate before kissing somebody, to gauge their reaction, to see how she would be received. Perhaps she would hesitate to prolong the moment, that ideal moment of anticipation, sometimes better than the kiss itself.

Marceline hesitated to test herself, to see if this was safe, to make sure she was still in control of her need.

And then her cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine.

What neither of us was prepared for was my response.

Blood boiled under my skin, burned in my lips. My breath came in a wild gasp. My fingers knotted in her hair, clutching her to me. My lips parted as I breathed in her heady scent.

Immediately I felt her turn to unresponsive stone beneath my lips. Her hands gently, but with irresistible force, pushed my face back. I opened my eyes and saw her guarded expression.

"Oops," I breathed.

"That's an understatement."

Her eyes were wild, her jaw clenched in acute restraint, yet she didn't lapse from her perfect articulation. She held my face just inches from her. She dazzled my eyes.

"Should I…?"I tried to disengage myself, to give her some room.

Her hands refused to let me move so much as an inch.

"No, it's tolerable. Wait for a moment, please." Her voice was polite, controlled.

I kept my eyes on her, watched as the excitement in them faded and gentled.

Then she smiled a surprisingly impish grin.

"There," she said, obviously pleased with herself.

"Tolerable?" I asked.

She laughed aloud. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

"I wish I could say the same. I'm sorry."

"You _are_ only human, after all."

"Thanks so much," I said, my voice acerbic.

She was on her feet in one of her lithe, almost invisibly quick movements. She held out her hand to me, an unexpected gesture. I was so used to our standard of careful non-contact. I took her icy hand, needing the support more than I thought. My balance had not yet returned.

"Are you still faint from the run? Or was it my kissing expertise?" How lighthearted, how human she seemed as she laughed now, her seraphic face untroubled. She was a different Marceline than the one I had known. And I felt all the more besotted by her. It would cause me physical pain to be separated from her now.

"I can't be sure, I'm still woozy," I managed to respond. "I think it's some of both, though."

"Maybe you should let me drive."

"Are you insane?" I protested.

"I can drive better than you on your best day," she teased. "You have much slower reflexes."

"I'm sure that's true, but I don't think my nerves, or my truck, could take it."

"Some trust, please, Bonnie."

My hand was in my pocket, curled tightly around the key. I pursed my lips, deliberated, then shook my head with a tight grin.

"Nope. Not a chance."

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

I started to step around her, heading for the driver's side. She might have let me pass if I hadn't wobbled slightly. Then again, she might not have. Her arm created an inescapable snare around my waist.

"Bonnie, I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Besides, friends don't let friends drive drunk," she quoted with a chuckle. I could smell the unbearably sweet fragrance coming off her chest.

"Drunk?" I objected.

"You're intoxicated by my very presence." She was grinning that playful smirk again.

"I can't argue with that," I sighed. There was no way around it; I couldn't resist her in anything. I held the key high and dropped it, watching her hand flash like lightning to catch it soundlessly. "Take it easy — my truck is a senior citizen."

"Very sensible," she approved.

"And are you not affected at all?" I asked, irked. "By my presence?"

Again her mobile features transformed, her expression became soft, warm. She didn't answer at first; she simply bent her face to mine, and brushed her lips slowly along my jaw, from my ear to my chin, back and forth. I trembled.

"Regardless," she finally murmured, "I have better reflexes."


	14. Mind Over Matter

14\. Mind over Matter

She could drive well, when she kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to her. She barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated a centimeter from the center of the lane. She drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat. Sometimes she gazed into the setting sun, sometimes she glanced at me — my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together.

She had turned the radio to an oldies station, and she sang along with a song I'd never heard. She knew every line.

"You like fifties music?" I asked.

"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" She shuddered. "The eighties were bearable."

"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" I asked, tentative, not wanting to upset her buoyant humor.

"Does it matter much?" Her smile, to my relief, remained unclouded.

"No, but I still wonder…" I grimaced. "There's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night."

"I wonder if it will upset you," she reflected to herself. She gazed into the sun; the minutes passed.

"Try me," I finally said.

She sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever she saw there must have encouraged her. She looked into the sun — the light of the setting orb glittered off her skin in ruby-tinged sparkles — and spoke.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901." She paused and glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. My face was carefully unsurprised, patient for the rest. She smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Hudson found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza."

She heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. She looked down into my eyes again.

"I don't remember it well — it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade." She was lost in her thoughts for a short time before she went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Hudson saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."

"Your parents?"

"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

"How did he… save you?"

A few seconds passed before she answered. She seemed to choose her words carefully.

"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Hudson has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us… I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history." She paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."

I could tell from the set of her lips, she would say no more on this subject. I suppressed my curiosity, though it was far from idle. There were many things I needed to think through on this particular issue, things that were only beginning to occur to me. No doubt her quick mind had already comprehended every aspect that eluded me.

Her soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "She acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Hudson's family, though he found Madalyn soon after. She fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."

"So you must be dying, then, to become…" We never said the word, and I couldn't frame it now.

"No, that's just Hudson. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." The respect in his voice was profound whenever she spoke of his father figure. "It is easier he says, though," she continued, "if the blood is weak." She looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again.

"And Jake and Lady?"

"Hudson brought Lady to our family next. I didn't realize till much later that she was hoping she would be to me what Madalyn was to him — he was careful with his thoughts around me." She rolled her eyes. "But she was never more than a sister. It was only two years later that she found Jake. She was hunting — we were in Appalachia at the time — and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Hudson, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." She threw a pointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of her hand.

"But she made it," I encouraged, looking away from the unbearable beauty of her eyes.

"Yes," she murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school." She laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, _again_."

"Flame and Finn?"

"Flame and Finn are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Finn belonged to another… family, a _very_ different kind of family. He became depressed, and he wandered on his own. Flame found him. Like me, she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind."

"Really?" I interrupted, fascinated. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true. She knows other things. She _sees_ things — things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change."

Her jaw set when she said that, and her eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it.

"What kinds of things does she see?"

"She saw Finn and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Hudson and our family, and they came together to find us. She's most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."

"Are there a lot of… your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us undetected?

"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people" — a sly glance in my direction — "can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live… differently tend to band together."

"And the others?"

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."

"Why is that?"

We were parked in front of my house now, and she'd turned off the truck. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off so I knew my father wasn't home yet.

"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" she teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

"So that's where the legends came from?"

"Probably."

"And Flame came from another family, like Finn?"

"No, and that _is_ a mystery. Flame doesn't remember her human life at all. And she doesn't know who created her. She awoke alone. Whoever made her walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If she hadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Finn and Hudson and known that she would someday become one of us, she probably would have turned into a total savage."

There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, I hadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous.

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"I'm fine, really."

"I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forget."

"I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to her.

"Can't I come in?" she asked.

"Would you like to?" I couldn't picture it, this godlike creature sitting in my father's shabby kitchen chair.

"Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almost simultaneously she was outside my door, opening it for me.

"Very human," I complimented her.

"It's definitely resurfacing."

She walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had to peek at her constantly to be sure she was still there. In the darkness she looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in her beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

She reached the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfway through the frame.

"The door was unlocked?"

"No, I used the key from under the eave."

I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at her with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of her.

"I was curious about you."

"You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage. I was flattered.

She was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?"

I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. She was there before me, needing no guide. She sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture her in. Her beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before I could look away.

I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.

"How often?" I asked casually.

"Hmmm?" She sounded as if I had pulled her from some other train of thought.

I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?"

"I come here almost every night."

I whirled, stunned. "Why?"

"You're interesting when you sleep." She spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk."

"No!" I gasped, heat flooding my face all the way to my hairline. I gripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, though.

Her expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry with me?"

"That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me.

She waited.

"On?" she urged.

"What you heard!" I wailed.

Instantly, silently, she was at my side, taking my hands carefully in her.

"Don't be upset!" she pleaded. She dropped her face to the level of my eyes, holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away.

"You miss your mother," she whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too _green.'"_ She laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.

"Anything else?" I demanded.

She knew what I was getting at. "You did say my name," she admitted.

I sighed in defeat. "A lot?"

"How much do you mean by 'a lot,' exactly?"

"Oh no!" I hung my head.

She pulled me against her chest, softly, naturally.

"Don't be self-conscious," she whispered in my ear. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."

Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in her arms.

"Should your father know I'm here?" she asked.

"I'm not sure…" I tried to think it through quickly.

"Another time then…"

And I was alone.

"Marceline!" I hissed.

I heard a ghostly chuckle, then nothing else.

My father's key turned in the door.

"Bonnie?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.

"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked in. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Marceline.

"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Marceline's chair for support.

I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire. As I set the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Gummy sat in the chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.

"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table.

"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.

"Good. The fish were biting… how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"

"Not really — it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another big bite.

"It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought to myself.

Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk.

Gummy surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?"

"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."

"You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention?

"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.

"It's Saturday," he mused.

I didn't respond.

"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.

"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep."

"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" He was suspicious, but trying to play it cool.

"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." I was careful not to over-emphasize the word boys in my quest to be truthful with Gummy.

"I thought maybe that Marshall Lee… you said he was friendly."

" _He's Just_ a friend, Dad."

"Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking." Every father's dream that his daughter will be out of the house before the hormones kick in.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.

"'Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, waiting for me to try to sneak out.

"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at midnight to check on me.

I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked up the stairs to my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear, and then sprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out into the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the trees.

"Marceline?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.

The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?"

I whirled, one hand flying to my throat in surprise.

She lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, her hands behind her head, her feet dangling off the end, the picture of ease.

"Oh!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor.

"I'm sorry." She pressed her lips together, trying to hide her amusement.

"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."

She sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then she leaned forward and reached out with her long arms to pick me up, gripping the tops of my arms like I was a toddler. She sat me on the bed beside her.

"Why don't you sit with me," she suggested, putting a cold hand on mine. "How's the heart?"

"You tell me — I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

I felt her quiet laughter shake the bed.

We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about having Marceline in my room, with my father in the house.

"Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked.

"Certainly." She gestured with one hand that I should proceed.

"Stay," I said, trying to look severe.

"Yes, ma'am." And she made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed.

I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletries off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.

I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, so Gummy wouldn't come up to bother me.

I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough _and_ speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Marceline, sitting in my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with the calming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home.

I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush and toothpaste into my bag. Then I dashed down the stairs so Gummy could see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.

"'Night, Dad."

"'Night, Bonnie." He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would keep him from checking on me tonight.

I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me.

Marceline hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Adonis perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and her lips twitched, the statue coming to life.

Her eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. She raised one eyebrow. "Nice."

I grimaced.

"No, it looks good on you."

"Thanks," I whispered. I went back to her side, sitting cross-legged beside her. I looked at the lines in the wooden floor.

"What was all that for?"

"Gummy thinks I'm sneaking out."

"Oh." She contemplated that. "Why?" As if she couldn't know Gummy's mind much more clearly than I could guess.

"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."

She lifted my chin, examining my face.

"You look very warm, actually."

She bent her face slowly to mine, laying her cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still.

"Mmmmm…" she breathed.

It was very difficult, while she was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.

"It seems to be… much easier for you, now, to be close to me."

"Does it seem that way to you?" she murmured, her nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt her hand, lighter than a moth's wing, brushing my damp hair back, so that her lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.

"Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale.

"Hmm."

"So I was wondering…" I began again, but her fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought.

"Yes?" she breathed.

"Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?"

I felt the tremor of her breath on my neck as she laughed. "Mind over matter."

I pulled back; as I moved, she froze — and I could no longer hear the sound of her breathing.

We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as her clenched jaw gradually relaxed, her expression became puzzled.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No — the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained.

She considered that briefly, and when she spoke, she sounded pleased. "Really?" A triumphant smile slowly lit her face.

"Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically.

She grinned.

"I'm just pleasantly surprised," she clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," her voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with… in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it… at being with you…"

"You're good at everything," I pointed out.

She shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.

"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon…"

"It's not _easy_ ," she sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still… undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."

"Not unforgivable," I disagreed.

"Thank you." She smiled. "You see," she continued, looking down now, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough…" She picked up one of my hands and pressed it lightly to her face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be… overcome" — she breathed in the scent at my wrist — "I was… susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I _was_ strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would… that I ever could…"

I'd never seen her struggle so hard for words. It was so… human.

"So there's no possibility now?"

"Mind over matter," she repeated, smiling, her teeth bright even in the darkness.

"Wow, that was easy," I said.

She threw back her head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.

"Easy for _you_!" she amended, touching my nose with her fingertip.

And then her face was abruptly serious.

"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice pained. "If it gets to be… too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving.

"And it will be harder tomorrow," she continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."

"Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice.

"That suits me," she replied, her face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles — I'm your prisoner." But her long hands formed manacles around _my_ wrists as she spoke. She laughed her quiet, musical laugh. She'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with her.

"You seem more… optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" She smiled. "The glory of first love, and all that. It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"

"Very different," I agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."

"For example" — her words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrate to catch it all — "the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me…" She grimaced. "Do you remember the day that Marshall asked you to the dance?"

I nodded, though I remembered that day for a different reason. "The day you started talking to me again."

"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury that I felt — I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused her. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I had no right to care either way. I _tried_ not to care.

"And then the line started forming," she chuckled. I scowled in the darkness.

"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure.

"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was _right_ , moral, ethical, and what I _wanted_. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Marshall, or someone like him. It made me angry.

"And then," she whispered, "As you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer." She was silent for a moment, probably listening to the suddenly uneven pounding of my heart.

"But jealousy… it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Gummy asked you about that vile Marshall Lee…" She shook her head angrily.

"I should have known you'd be listening," I groaned.

"Of course."

" _That_ made you feel jealous, though, really?"

"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

"But honestly," I teased, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Lady — Lady, the incarnation of pure beauty, _Lady_ — was meant for you. Jake or no Jake, how can I compete with that?"

"There's no competition." Her teeth gleamed. She drew my trapped hands around her back, holding me to her chest. I kept as still as I could, even breathing with caution.

"I _know_ there's no competition," I mumbled into her cold skin. "That's the problem."

"Of course Lady _is_ beautiful in her way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Jake didn't belong with her, she could never have one tenth, no, one hundredth of the attraction you hold for me." She was serious now, thoughtful. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours… all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet."

"It hardly seems fair," I whispered, my face still resting on her chest, listening to her breath come and go. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"

"You're right," she agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you, definitely." She freed one of her hands, released my wrist, only to gather it carefully into her other hand. She stroked my wet hair softly, from the top of my head to my waist. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, that's surely not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity… what's that worth?"

"Very little — I don't feel deprived of anything."

"Not yet." And her voice was abruptly full of ancient grief.

I tried to pull back, to look in her face, but her hand locked my wrists in an unbreakable hold.

"What —" I started to ask, when her body became alert. I froze, but she suddenly released my hands, and disappeared. I narrowly avoided falling on my face.

"Lie down!" she hissed. I couldn't tell where she spoke from in the darkness.

I rolled under my quilt, balling up on my side, the way I usually slept. I heard the door crack open, as Gummy peeked in to make sure I was where I was supposed to be. I breathed evenly, exaggerating the movement.

A long minute passed. I listened, not sure if I'd heard the door close. Then Marceline's cool arm was around me, under the covers, her lips at my ear.

"You are a terrible actress — I'd say that career path is out for you."

"Darn it," I muttered. My heart was crashing in my chest.

She hummed a melody I didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby.

She paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"

"Right," I laughed. "Like I could sleep with you here!"

"You do it all the time," she reminded me.

"But I didn't _know_ you were here," I replied icily.

"So if you don't want to sleep…" she suggested, ignoring my tone. My breath caught.

"If I don't want to sleep…?"

She chuckled. "What do you want to do then?"

I couldn't answer at first.

"I'm not sure," I finally said.

"Tell me when you decide."

I could feel her cool breath on my neck, feel her nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling.

"I thought you were desensitized."

"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," she whispered. "You have a very floral smell, like lavender… or freesia," she noted. "It's mouthwatering."

"Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get _somebody_ telling me how edible I smell."

She chuckled, and then sighed.

"I've decided what I want to do," I told her. "I want to hear more about you."

"Ask me anything."

I sifted through my questions for the most vital. "Why do you do it?" I said. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you… _are_. Please don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad that you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

She hesitated before answering. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it. The others — the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot — they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been… dealt a certain hand… it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above — to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."

I lay unmoving, locked in awed silence.

"Did you fall asleep?" she whispered after a few minutes.

"No."

"Is that all you were curious about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not quite."

"What else do you want to know?"

"Why can you read minds — why only you? And Flame, seeing the future… why does that happen?"

I felt her shrug in the darkness. "We don't really know. Hudson has a theory… he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified — like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Flame had some precognition, wherever she was."

"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"

"Hudson brought his compassion. Madalyn brought her ability to love passionately. Jake brought his strength, Lady her… tenacity. Or you could call it pig-headedness." she chuckled. "Finn is very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him — calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."

I considered the impossibilities she described, trying to take it in. She waited patiently while I thought.

"So where did it all start? I mean, Hudson changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on…"

"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"

"Let me get this straight — I'm the baby seal, right?"

"Right." She laughed, and something touched my hair — her lips?

I wanted to turn toward her, to see if it was really her lips against my hair. But I had to be good; I didn't want to make this any harder for her than it already was.

"Are you ready to sleep?" she asked, interrupting the short silence. "Or do you have any more questions?"

"Only a million or two."

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…" she reminded me. I smiled, euphoric at the thought.

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" I wanted this to be certain. "You are mythical, after all."

"I won't leave you." Her voice had the seal of a promise in it.

"One more, then, tonight…" And I blushed. The darkness was no help — I'm sure she could feel the sudden warmth under my skin.

"What is it?"

"No, forget it. I changed my mind."

"Bonnie, you can ask me anything."

I didn't answer, and she groaned.

"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and _worse_."

"I'm glad you can't read my thoughts. It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking."

"Please?" His voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist.

I shook my head.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is," she threatened darkly. "Please?" Again, that pleading voice.

"Well," I began, glad that she couldn't see my face.

"Yes?"

"You said that Lady and Jake will get married soon… Is that… marriage… the same as it is for humans?"

She laughed in earnest now, understanding. "Is _that_ what you're getting at?"

I fidgeted, unable to answer.

"Yes, I suppose it is much the same," she said. "I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."

"Oh," was all I could say.

"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"

"Well, I did wonder… about you and me… someday…"

She was instantly serious, I could tell by the sudden stillness of her body. I froze, too, reacting automatically.

"I don't think that… that… would be possible for us."

"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that… close?"

"That's certainly a problem. But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you are so soft, so fragile. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Bonnie, simply by accident." Her voice had become just a soft murmur. She moved her icy palm to rest it against my cheek. "If I was too hasty… if for one second I wasn't paying enough attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly _breakable_ you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

She waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn't. "Are you scared?" she asked.

I waited for a minute to answer, so the words would be true. "No. I'm fine."

She seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I'm curious now, though," she said, her voice light again. "Have _you_ ever…?" She trailed off suggestively.

"Of course not." I flushed. "I told you I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."

"I know. It's just that I know other people's thoughts. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company."

"They do for me. Now, anyway, that they exist for me at all," I sighed.

"That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least." She sounded satisfied.

"Your human instincts…" I began. She waited. "Well, do you find me attractive, in _that_ way, at all?"

She laughed and lightly rumpled my nearly dry hair.

"I may not be a real human, but I am sensitive to that some way," she assured me.

I yawned involuntarily.

"I've answered your questions, now you should sleep," she insisted.

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" I said too loudly.

She laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in my ear.

More tired than I realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress like I'd never felt before, I drifted to sleep in her cold arms.


	15. The Abadeers

15\. The Abadeers

The muted light of yet another cloudy day eventually woke me. I lay with my arm across my eyes, groggy and dazed. Something, a dream trying to be remembered, struggled to break into my consciousness. I moaned and rolled on my side, hoping more sleep would come. And then the previous day flooded back into my awareness.

"Oh!" I sat up so fast it made my head spin.

"Your hair looks like a haystack… but I like it." Her unruffled voice came from the rocking chair in the corner.

"Marceline! You stayed!" I rejoiced, and thoughtlessly threw myself across the room and into her lap. In the instant that my thoughts caught up with my actions, I froze, shocked by my own uncontrolled enthusiasm. I stared up at her, afraid that I had crossed the wrong line.

But she laughed.

"Of course," she answered, startled, but seeming pleased by my reaction. Her hands rubbed my back.

I laid my head cautiously against her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her skin.

"I was sure it was a dream."

"You're not that creative," she scoffed.

"Gummy!" I remembered, thoughtlessly jumping up again and heading to the door.

"He left an hour ago — after reattaching your battery cables, I might add. I have to admit I was disappointed. Is that really all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?"

I deliberated where I stood, wanting to return to her badly, but afraid I might have morning breath.

"You're not usually this confused in the morning," she noted. She held her arms open for me to return. A nearly irresistible invitation.

"I need another human minute," I admitted.

"I'll wait."

I skipped to the bathroom, my emotions unrecognizable. I didn't know myself, inside or out. The face in the mirror was practically a stranger — eyes too bright, hectic spots of red across my cheekbones. After I brushed my teeth, I worked to straighten out the tangled chaos that was my hair. I splashed my face with cold water, and tried to breathe normally, with no noticeable success. I half-ran back to my room.

It seemed like a miracle that she was there, her arms still waiting for me. She reached out to me, and my heart thumped unsteadily.

"Welcome back," she murmured, taking me into her arms.

She rocked me for a while in silence, until I noticed that her clothes were changed, her hair smooth.

"You left?" I accused, touching the collar of her fresh T-shirt.

"I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in — what would the neighbors think?"

I pouted.

"You were very deeply asleep; I didn't miss anything." Her eyes gleamed. "The talking came earlier."

I groaned. "What did you hear?"

Her gold eyes grew very soft. "You said you loved me."

"You knew that already," I reminded her, ducking my head.

"It was nice to hear, just the same."

I hid my face against her shoulder.

"I love you," I whispered.

"You are my life now," she answered simply.

There was nothing more to say for the moment. She rocked us back and forth as the room grew lighter.

"Breakfast time," she said eventually, casually — to prove, I'm sure, that she remembered all my human frailties.

So I clutched my throat with both hands and stared at her with wide eyes. Shock crossed her face.

"Kidding!" I snickered. "And you said I couldn't act!"

She frowned in disgust. "That wasn't funny."

"It was very funny, and you know it." But I examined her gold eyes carefully, to make sure that I was forgiven. Apparently, I was.

"Shall I rephrase?" she asked. "Breakfast time for the human."

"Oh, okay."

She threw me over her stone shoulder, gently, but with a swiftness that left me breathless. I protested as she carried me easily down the stairs, but she ignored me. She sat me right side up on a chair.

The kitchen was bright, happy, seeming to absorb my mood.

"What's for breakfast?" I asked pleasantly.

That threw her for a minute.

"Er, I'm not sure. What would you like?" Her marble brow puckered.

I grinned, hopping up.

"That's all right, I fend for myself pretty well. Watch me hunt."

I found a bowl and a box of cereal. I could feel her eyes on me as I poured the milk and grabbed a spoon. I sat my food on the table, and then paused.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked, not wanting to be rude.

She rolled his eyes. "Just eat, Bonnie."

I sat at the table, watching her as I took a bite. She was gazing at me, studying my every movement. It made me self-conscious. I cleared my mouth to speak, to distract her.

"What's on the agenda for today?" I asked.

"Hmmm…" I watched her frame her answer carefully. "What would you say to meet my family?"

I gulped.

"Are you afraid now?" She sounded hopeful.

"Yes," I admitted; how could I deny it — she could see my eyes.

"Don't worry." She smirked. "I'll protect you."

"I'm not afraid of _them_ ," I explained. "I'm afraid they won't… like me. Won't they be, well, surprised that you would bring someone… like me… home to meet them? Do they know that I know about them?"

"Oh, they already know everything. They'd taken bets yesterday, you know" — she smiled, but her voice was harsh — "on whether I'd bring you back, though why anyone would bet against Flame, I can't imagine. At any rate, we don't have secrets in the family. It's not really feasible, what with my mind reading and Flame seeing the future and all that."

"And Finn making you feel all warm and fuzzy about spilling your guts, don't forget that."

"You paid attention," she smiled approvingly.

"I've been known to do that every now and then." I grimaced. "So did Flame see me coming?"

Her reaction was strange. "Something like that," she said uncomfortably, turning away so I couldn't see her eyes. I stared at her curiously.

"Is that any good?" she asked, turning back to me abruptly and eyeing my breakfast with a teasing look on her face. "Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing."

"Well, it's no irritable grizzly…" I murmured, ignoring her when she glowered. I was still wondering why she responded that way when I mentioned Flame. I hurried through my cereal, speculating.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, the statue of Aphrodite again, staring abstractedly out the back windows.

Then her eyes were back on me, and she smiled her heartbreaking smile.

"And you should introduce me to your father, too, I think."

"He already knows you," I reminded her.

"As your girlfriend, I mean."

I stared at her with suspicion. "Why?"

"Isn't that customary?" she asked innocently.

"I don't know," I admitted. My dating history gave me few reference points to work with. Not that any normal rules of dating applied here. "That's not necessary, you know. I don't expect you to… I mean, you don't have to pretend for me."

Her smile was patient. "I'm not pretending."

I pushed the remains of my cereal around the edges of the bowl, biting my lip.

"Are you going to tell Gummy I'm your girlfriend or not?" she demanded.

"Is that what you are?" I suppressed my internal cringing at the thought of Marceline and Gummy and the word _girlfriend_ all in the same room at the same time.

"It's a loose interpretation of the word 'girl,' I'll admit."

"I was under the impression that you were something more, actually" I confessed, looking at the table.

"Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details." She reached across the table to lift my chin with a cold, gentle finger. "But he will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Gum getting a restraining order put on me."

"Will you be?" I asked, suddenly anxious. "Will you really be here?"

"As long as you want me," she assured me.

"I'll always want you," I warned her. "Forever."

She walked slowly around the table, and, pausing a few feet away, she reached out to touch her fingertips to my cheek. Her expression was unfathomable.

"Does that make you sad?" I asked.

She didn't answer. She stared into my eyes for an immeasurable period of time.

"Are you finished?" she finally asked.

I jumped up. "Yes."

"Get dressed — I'll wait here."

It was hard to decide what to wear. I doubted there were any etiquette books detailing how to dress when your vampire sweetheart takes you home to meet her vampire family. It was a relief to think the word to myself. I knew I shied away from it intentionally.

I ended up in my only skirt — long, khaki-colored, still casual. I put on the dark blue blouse she'd once complimented. A quick glance in the mirror told me my hair was entirely impossible, so I pulled it back into a pony tail.

"Okay." I bounced down the stairs. "I'm decent."

She was waiting at the foot of the stairs, closer than I'd thought, and I bounded right into her. She steadied me, holding me a careful distance away for a few seconds before suddenly pulling me closer.

"Wrong again," she murmured in my ear. "You are utterly indecent — no one should look so tempting, it's not fair."

"Tempting how?" I asked. "I can change…"

She sighed, shaking her head. "You are _so_ absurd." She pressed her cool lips delicately to my forehead, and the room spun. The smell of her breath made it impossible to think.

"Shall I explain how you are tempting me?" she said. It was clearly a rhetorical question. Her fingers traced slowly down my spine, her breath coming more quickly against my skin. My hands were limp on her stomach, and I felt lightheaded again. She tilted her head slowly and touched her cool lips to mine for the second time, very carefully, parting them slightly.

And then I collapsed.

"Bonnie?" Her voice was alarmed as she caught me and held me up.

"You… made… me… faint," I accused her dizzily.

" _What am I going to do with you_?" she groaned in exasperation. "Yesterday I kiss you, and you attack me! Today you pass out on me!"

I laughed weakly, letting her arms support me while my head spun.

"So much for being good at everything," she sighed.

"That's the problem." I was still dizzy. "You're _too_ good. Far, far too good."

"Do you feel sick?" she asked; she'd seen me like this before.

"No — that wasn't the same kind of fainting at all. I don't know what happened." I shook my head apologetically, "I think I forgot to breathe."

"I can't take you anywhere like this."

"I'm fine," I insisted. "Your family is going to think I'm insane anyway, what's the difference?"

She measured my expression for a moment. "I'm very partial to that color with your skin," she offered unexpectedly. I flushed with pleasure, and looked away.

"Look, I'm trying really hard not to think about what I'm about to do, so can we go already?" I asked.

"And you're worried, not because you're headed to meet a houseful of vampires, but because you think those vampires won't approve of you, correct?"

"That's right," I answered immediately, hiding my surprise at her casual use of the word.

She shook her head. "You're incredible."

I realized, as she drove my truck out of the main part of town, that I had no idea where she lived. We passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, the houses flashing past us growing farther apart, getting bigger. And then we were past the other houses altogether, driving through misty forest. I was trying to decide whether to ask or be patient, when she turned abruptly onto an unpaved road. It was unmarked, barely visible among the ferns. The forest encroached on both sides, leaving the road ahead only discernible for a few meters as it twisted, serpent-like, around the ancient trees.

And then, after a few miles, there was some thinning of the woods, and we were suddenly in a small meadow, or was it actually a lawn? The gloom of the forest didn't relent, though, for there were six primordial cedars that shaded an entire acre with their vast sweep of branches. The trees held their protecting shadow right up to the walls of the house that rose among them, making obsolete the deep porch that wrapped around the first story.

I don't know what I had expected, but it definitely wasn't this. The house was timeless, graceful, and probably a hundred years old. It was painted a soft, faded white, three stories tall, rectangular and well proportioned. The windows and doors were either part of the original structure or a perfect restoration. My truck was the only car in sight. I could hear the river close by, hidden in the obscurity of the forest.

"Wow."

"You like it?" She smiled.

"It… has a certain charm."

She pulled the end of my ponytail and chuckled.

"Ready?" she asked, opening my door.

"Not even a little bit — let's go." I tried to laugh, but it seemed to get stuck in my throat. I smoothed my hair nervously.

"You look lovely." She took my hand easily, without thinking about it.

We walked through the deep shade up to the porch. I knew she could feel my tension; her thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of my hand. She opened the door for me.

The inside was even more surprising, less predictable, than the exterior. It was very bright, very open, and very large. This must have originally been several rooms, but the walls had been removed from most of the first floor to create one wide space. The back, south-facing wall had been entirely replaced with glass, and, beyond the shade of the cedars, the lawn stretched bare to the wide river. A massive curving staircase dominated the west side of the room. The walls, the high-beamed ceiling, the wooden floors, and the thick carpets were all varying shades of white.

Waiting to greet us, standing just to the left of the door, on a raised portion of the floor by a spectacular grand piano, were Marceline's parents.

I'd seen Dr. Abadeer before, of course, yet I couldn't help but be struck again by his youth, his outrageous perfection. At his side was Madalyn, I assumed, the only one of the family I'd never seen before. She had the same pale, beautiful features as the rest of them. Something about her heart-shaped face, her billows of soft, caramel-colored hair, reminded me of the ingénues of the silent-movie era. She was small, slender, yet less angular, more rounded than the others. They were both dressed casually, in light colors that matched the inside of the house. They smiled in welcome, but made no move to approach us. Trying not to frighten me, I guessed.

"Hudson, Madalyn," Marceline's voice broke the short silence, "this is Bonnie."

"You're very welcome, Bonnie." Hudson's step was measured, careful as he approached me. He raised his hand tentatively, and I stepped forward to shake hands with him.

"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Abadeer."

"Please, call me Hudson."

"Hudson." I grinned at him, my sudden confidence surprising me. I could feel Marceline's relief at my side.

Madalyn smiled and stepped forward as well, reaching for my hand. Her cold, stone grasp was just as I expected.

"It's very nice to know you," she said sincerely.

"Thank you. I'm glad to meet you, too." And I was. It was like meeting a fairy tale — Snow White, in the flesh.

"Where are Flame and Finn?" Marceline asked, but no one answered, as they had just appeared at the top of the wide staircase.

"Hey, Marceline!" Flame called enthusiastically. She ran down the stairs, a streak of black hair and white skin, coming to a sudden and graceful stop in front of me. Hudson and Madalyn shot warning glances at her, but I liked it. It was natural — for her, anyway.

"Hi, Bonnie!" Flame said, and she bounced forward to kiss my cheek. If Hudson and Madalyn had looked cautious before, they now looked staggered. There was shock in my eyes, too, but I was also very pleased that she seemed to approve of me so entirely. I was startled to feel Marceline stiffen at my side. I glanced at her face, but her expression was unreadable.

"You do smell nice, I never noticed before," she commented, to my extreme embarrassment.

No one else seemed to know quite what to say, and then Finn was there — tall and leonine. A feeling of ease spread through me, and I was suddenly comfortable despite where I was. Marceline stared at Finn, raising one eyebrow, and I remembered what Finn could do.

"Hello, Bonnie," Finn said. He kept his distance, not offering to shake my hand. But it was impossible to feel awkward near him.

"Hello, Finn." I smiled at him shyly, and then at the others. "It's nice to meet you all — you have a very beautiful home," I added conventionally.

"Thank you," Madalyn said. "We're so glad that you came." She spoke with feeling, and I realized that she thought I was brave.

I also realized that Lady and Jake were nowhere to be seen, and I remembered Marceline's too-innocent denial when I'd asked her if the others didn't like me.

Hudson's expression distracted me from this train of thought; he was gazing meaningfully at Marceline with an intense expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marceline nod once.

I looked away, trying to be polite. My eyes wandered again to the beautiful instrument on the platform by the door. I suddenly remembered my childhood fantasy that, should I ever win a lottery, I would buy a grand piano for my mother. She wasn't really good — she only played for herself on our secondhand upright — but I loved to watch her play. She was happy, absorbed — she seemed like a new, mysterious being to me then, someone outside the "mom" persona I took for granted. She'd put me through lessons, of course, but like most kids, I whined until she let me quit.

Madalyn noticed my preoccupation.

"Do you play?" she asked, inclining her head toward the piano.

I shook my head. "Not at all. But it's so beautiful. Is it yours?"

"No," she laughed. "Marceline didn't tell you she was a musician?"

"No." I glared at her suddenly innocent expression with narrowed eyes. "I should have known, I guess."

Madalyn raised her delicate eyebrows in confusion.

"Marceline can do everything, right?" I explained.

Finn snickered and Madalyn gave Marceline a reproving look.

"I hope you haven't been showing off— it's rude," she scolded.

"Just a bit," she laughed freely. Her face softened at the sound, and they shared a brief look that I didn't understand, though Madalyn's face seemed almost smug.

"She's been too modest, actually," I corrected.

"Well, play for her," Madalyn encouraged.

"You just said showing off was rude," she objected.

"There are exceptions to every rule," she replied.

"I'd like to hear you play," I volunteered.

"It's settled then." Madalyn pushed her toward the piano. She pulled me along, sitting me on the bench beside her.

She gave me a long, exasperated look before she turned to the keys.

And then her fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory, and the room was filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, it was impossible to believe only one set of hands played. I felt my chin drop, my mouth open in astonishment, and heard low chuckles behind me at my reaction.

Marceline looked at me casually, the music still surging around us without a break, and winked. "Do you like it?"

"You wrote this?" I gasped, understanding.

She nodded. "It's Madalyn's favorite."

I closed my eyes, shaking my head. "What's wrong?"

"I'm feeling extremely insignificant."

The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to my surprise I detected the melody of her lullaby weaving through the profusion of notes.

"You inspired this one," she said softly. The music grew unbearably sweet. I couldn't speak.

"They like you, you know," she said conversationally.

"Madalyn especially." I glanced behind me, but the huge room was empty now.

"Where did they go?"

"Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose."

I sighed. "They like me. But Lady and Jake…" I trailed off, not sure how to express my doubts. She frowned. "Don't worry about Lady," she said, her eyes wide and persuasive. "She'll come around." I pursed my lips skeptically. "Jake?"

"Well, he thinks _I'm_ a lunatic, it's true, but he doesn't have a problem with you. He's trying to reason with Lady."

"What is it that upsets her?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer.

She sighed deeply. "Lady struggles the most with… with what we are. It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth. And she's a little jealous."

" _Lady_ is jealous of _me_?" I asked incredulously. I tried to imagine a universe in which someone as breathtaking as Lady would have any possible reason to feel jealous of someone like me.

"You're human." She shrugged. "She wishes that she were, too." "Oh," I muttered, still stunned. "Even Finn, though…"

"That's really my fault," she said. "I told you he was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned him to keep his distance."

I thought about the reason for that, and shuddered.

"Madalyn and Hudson…?" I continued quickly, to keep her from noticing.

"Are happy to see me happy. Actually, Madalyn wouldn't care if you had a third eye and webbed feet. All this time she's been worried about me, afraid that there was something missing from my essential makeup, that I was too young when Hudson changed me… She's ecstatic. Every time I touch you, she just about chokes with satisfaction."

"Flame seems very… enthusiastic."

"Flame has her own way of looking at things," she said through tight lips.

"And you're not going to explain that, are you?"

A moment of wordless communication passed between us. She realized that I knew he was keeping something from me. I realized that she wasn't going to give anything away. Not now. "So what was Hudson telling you before?"

Her eyebrows pulled together. "You noticed that, did you?"

I shrugged. "Of course."

She looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering. "He wanted to tell me some news — he didn't know if it was something I would share with you."

"Will you?"

"I have to, because I'm going to be a little… overbearingly protective over the next few days — or weeks — and I wouldn't want you to think I'm naturally a tyrant."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Flame just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious."

"Visitors?"

"Yes… well, they aren't like us, of course — in their hunting habits, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."

I shivered.

"Finally, a rational response!" she murmured. "I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all."

I let that one pass, looking away, my eyes wandering again around the spacious room.

She followed my gaze. "Not what you expected, is it?" she asked, her voice smug.

"No," I admitted.

"No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs… what a disappointment this must be for you," she continued slyly.

I ignored her teasing. "It's so light… so open."

She was more serious when she answered. "It's the one place we never have to hide."

The song she was still playing, my song, drifted to an end, the final chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last note hovered poignantly in the silence.

"Thank you," I murmured. I realized there were tears in my eyes. I dabbed at them, embarrassed.

She touched the corner of my eye, trapping one I missed. She lifted her finger, examining the drop of moisture broodingly. Then, so quickly I couldn't be positive that she really did, she put her finger to her mouth to taste it.

I looked at her questioningly, and she gazed back for a long moment before she finally smiled.

"Do you want to see the rest of the house?"

"No coffins?" I verified, the sarcasm in my voice not entirely masking the slight but genuine anxiety I felt.

She laughed, taking my hand, leading me away from the piano.

"No coffins," she promised.

We walked up the massive staircase, my hand trailing along the satin-smooth rail. The long hall at the top of the stairs was paneled with a honey-colored wood, the same as the floorboards.

"Lady and Jake's room…Hudson's office…Flame's room…" She gestured as she led me past the doors.

She would have continued, but I stopped dead at the end of the hall, staring incredulously at the ornament hanging on the wall above my head. Marceline chuckled at my bewildered expression.

"You can laugh," she said. "It _is_ sort of ironic."

I didn't laugh. My hand raised automatically, one finger extended as if to touch the large wooden cross, its dark patina contrasting with the lighter tone of the wall. I didn't touch it, though I was curious if the aged wood would feel as silky as it looked.

"It must be very old," I guessed.

She shrugged. "Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."

I looked away from the cross to stare at her.

"Why do you keep this here?" I wondered.

"Nostalgia. It belonged to Hudson's father."

"He collected antiques?" I suggested doubtfully.

"No he carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

I wasn't sure if my face betrayed my shock, but I returned to gazing at the simple, ancient cross, just in case. I quickly did the mental math; the cross was over three hundred and seventy years old. The silence stretched on as I struggled to wrap my mind around the concept of so many years.

"Are you all right?" She sounded worried.

"How old is Hudson?" I asked quietly, ignoring her question, still staring up.

"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Marceline said. I looked back at her, a million questions in my eyes.

She watched me carefully as she spoke.

"Hudson was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though."

I kept my face composed, aware of her scrutiny as I listened. It was easier if I didn't try to believe.

"He was the only son of an Anglican pastor. His mother died giving birth to him. His father was an intolerant man. As the Protestants came into power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil. He led hunts for witches, werewolves… and vampires." I grew very still at the word. I'm sure she noticed, but she went on without pausing.

"They burned a lot of innocent people — of course the real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch.

"When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of the raids. At first Hudson was a disappointment; he was not quick to accuse, to see demons where they did not exist. But he was persistent, and cleverer than his father. He actually discovered a coven of true vampires that lived hidden in the sewers of the city, only coming out by night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were not just myths and legends, that was the way many lived.

"The people gathered their pitchforks and torches, of course" — her brief laugh was darker now — "and waited where Hudson had seen the monsters exit into the street. Eventually one emerged."

Her voice was very quiet; I strained to catch the words.

"He must have been ancient, and weak with hunger. Hudson heard him call out in Latin to the others when he caught the scent of the mob. He ran through the streets, and Hudson — he was twenty-three and very fast — was in the lead of the pursuit. The creature could have easily outrun them, but Hudson thinks he was too hungry, so he turned and attacked. He fell on Hudson first, but the others were close behind, and he turned to defend himself. He killed two men, and made off with a third, leaving Hudson bleeding in the street."

She paused. I could sense she was editing something, keeping something from me.

"Hudson knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned — anything infected by the monster must be destroyed. Hudson acted instinctively to save his own life. He crawled away from the alley while the mob followed the fiend and his victim. He hid in a cellar, buried himself in rotting potatoes for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent, to stay undiscovered.

"It was over then, and he realized what he had become."

I'm not sure what my face was revealing, but she suddenly broke off.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine," I assured her. And, though I bit my lip in hesitation, she must have seen the curiosity burning in my eyes.

She smiled. "I expect you have a few more questions for me."

"A few."

Her smile widened over her brilliant teeth. She started back down the hall, pulling me along by the hand. "Come on, then," she encouraged. "I'll show you."


	16. Hudson

16\. Hudson

She led me back to the room that she'd pointed out as Hudson's office. She paused outside the door for an instant.

"Come in," Hudson's voice invited.

Marceline opened the door to a high-ceilinged room with tall, west-facing windows. The walls were paneled again, in a darker wood — where they were visible. Most of the wall space was taken up by towering bookshelves that reached high above my head and held more books than I'd ever seen outside a library.

Hudson sat behind a huge mahogany desk in a leather chair. He was just placing a bookmark in the pages of the thick volume he held. The room was how I'd always imagined a college dean's would look — only Hudson looked too young to fit the part.

"What can I do for you?" he asked us pleasantly, rising from his seat.

"I wanted to show Bonnie some of our history," Marceline said. "Well, your history, actually."

"We didn't mean to disturb you," I apologized.

"Not at all. Where are you going to start?"

"The Waggoner," Marceline replied, placing one hand lightly on my shoulder and spinning me around to look back toward the door we'd just come through. Every time she touched me, in even the most casual way, my heart had an audible reaction. It was more embarrassing with Hudson there.

The wall we faced now was different from the others. Instead of bookshelves, this wall was crowded with framed pictures of all sizes, some in vibrant colors, others dull monochromes. I searched for some logic, some binding motif the collection had in common, but I found nothing in my hasty examination.

Marceline pulled me toward the far left side, standing me in front of a small square oil painting in a plain wooden frame. This one did not stand out among the bigger and brighter pieces; painted in varying tones of sepia, it depicted a miniature city full of steeply slanted roofs, with thin spires atop a few scattered towers. A wide river filled the foreground, crossed by a bridge covered with structures that looked like tiny cathedrals.

"London in the sixteen-fifties," Marceline said.

"The London of my youth," Hudson added, from a few feet behind us. I flinched; I hadn't heard him approach. Marceline squeezed my hand.

"Will _you_ tell the story?" Marceline asked. I twisted a little to see Hudson's reaction.

He met my glance and smiled. "I would," he replied. "But I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning — Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides, you know the stories as well as I do," he added, grinning at Marceline now.

It was a strange combination to absorb — the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London.

It was also unsettling to know that he spoke aloud only for my benefit.

After another warm smile for me, Hudson left the room.

I stared at the little picture of Hudson's hometown for a long moment.

"What happened then?" I finally asked, staring up at Marceline, who was watching me. "When he realized what had happened to him?"

She glanced back to the paintings, and I looked to see which image caught her interest now. It was a larger landscape in dull fall colors — an empty, shadowed meadow in a forest, with a craggy peak in the distance.

"When he knew what he had become," Marceline said quietly, "he rebelled against it. He tried to destroy himself. But that's not easily done."

"How?" I didn't mean to say it aloud, but the word broke through my shock.

"He jumped from great heights," Marceline told me, her voice impassive. "He tried to drown himself in the ocean… but he was young to the new life, and very strong. It is amazing that he was able to resist… feeding… while he was still so new. The instinct is more powerful then, it takes over everything. But he was so repelled by himself that he had the strength to try to kill himself with starvation."

"Is that possible?" My voice was faint.

"No, there are very few ways we can be killed."

I opened my mouth to ask, but she spoke before I could.

"So he grew very hungry, and eventually weak. He strayed as far as he could from the human populace, recognizing that his willpower was weakening, too. For months he wandered by night, seeking the loneliest places, loathing himself. "One night, a herd of deer passed his hiding place. He was so wild with thirst that he attacked without a thought. His strength returned and he realized there was an alternative to being the vile monster he feared. Had he not eaten venison in his former life? Over the next months his new Philosophy was born. He could exist without being a demon. He found himself again.

"He began to make better use of his time. He'd always been intelligent, eager to learn. Now he had unlimited time before him. He studied by night, planned by day. He swam to France and —"

"He _swam_ to France?"

"People swim the Channel all the time, Bonnie," she reminded me patiently.

"That's true, I guess. It just sounded funny in that context. Go on."

"Swimming is easy for us —"

"Everything is easy for _you_ ," I griped.

She waited, her expression amused.

"I won't interrupt again, I promise."

She chuckled darkly, and finished her sentence. "Because, technically, we don't need to breathe."

"You —"

"No, no, you promised." She laughed, putting her cold finger lightly to my lips. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"You can't spring something like that on me, and then expect me not to say anything," I mumbled against her finger.

She lifted her hand, moving it to rest against my neck. The speed of my heart reacted to that, but I persisted.

"You don't have to _breathe_?" I demanded.

"No, it's not necessary. Just a habit." She shrugged.

"How long can you go… without _breathing_?"

"Indefinitely, I suppose; I don't know. It gets a bit uncomfortable — being without a sense of smell."

"A bit uncomfortable," I echoed.

I wasn't paying attention to my own expression, but something in it made her grow somber. Her hand dropped to her side and she stood very still, her eyes intent on my face. The silence lengthened. Her features were immobile as stone.

"What is it?" I whispered, touching her frozen face. Her face softened under my hand, and she sighed. "I keep waiting for it to happen."

"For what to happen?"

"I know that at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to be too much. And then you'll run away from me, screaming as you go." She smiled half a smile, but her eyes were serious. "I won't stop you. I want this to happen, because I want you to be safe. And yet, I want to be with you. The two desires are impossible to reconcile…" She trailed off, staring at my face. Waiting.

"I'm not running anywhere," I promised.

"We'll see," she said, smiling again.

I frowned at her. "So, go on — Hudson was swimming to France."

She paused, getting back into her story. Reflexively, her eyes flickered to another picture — the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the largest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas overflowed with bright figures in swirling robes, writhing around long pillars and off marbled balconies. I couldn't tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be biblical.

"Hudson swam to France, and continued on through Europe, to the universities there. By night he studied music, science, medicine — and found his calling, his penance, in that, in saving human lives." Her expression became awed, almost reverent. "I can't adequately describe the struggle; it took Hudson two centuries of torturous effort to perfect his self-control. Now he is all but immune to the scent of human blood, and he is able to do the work he loves without agony. He finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital…" Marceline stared off into space for a long moment. Suddenly she seemed to recall her purpose. She tapped her finger against the huge painting in front of us.

"He was studying in Italy when he discovered the others there. They were much more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers."

She touched a comparatively sedate quartet of figures painted on the highest balcony, looking down calmly on the mayhem below them. I examined the grouping carefully and realized, with a startled laugh, that I recognized the golden-haired man.

"Solimena was greatly inspired by Hudson's friends. He often painted them as gods," Marceline chuckled. "Aro, Marcus, Caius," she said, indicating the other three, two black-haired, one snowy-white. "Nighttime patrons of the arts."

"What happened to them?" I wondered aloud, my fingertip hovering a centimeter from the figures on the canvas.

"They're still there." She shrugged. "As they have been for who knows how many millennia. Hudson stayed with them only for a short time, just a few decades. He greatly admired their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to cure his aversion to 'his natural food source,' as they called it. They tried to persuade him, and he tried to persuade them, to no avail. At that point, Hudson decided to try the New World. He dreamed of finding others like himself. He was very lonely, you see.

"He didn't find anyone for a long time. But, as monsters became the stuff of fairy tales, he found he could interact with unsuspecting humans as if he were one of them. He began practicing medicine. But the companionship he craved evaded him; he couldn't risk familiarity.

"When the influenza epidemic hit, he was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. He'd been turning over an idea in his mind for several years, and he had almost decided to act — since he couldn't find a companion, he would create one. He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that he found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. He had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone. He decided to try…"

Her voice, nearly a whisper now, trailed off. She stared unseeingly through the west windows. I wondered which images filled her mind now, Hudson's memories or her own. I waited quietly.

When she turned back to me, a gentle angel's smile lit her expression.

"And so we've come full circle," she concluded.

"Have you always stayed with Hudson, then?" I wondered.

"Almost always." She put her hand lightly on my waist and pulled me with her as she walked through the door. I stared back at the wall of pictures, wondering if I would ever get to hear the other stories.

Marceline didn't say any more as we walked down the hall, so I asked, "Almost?"

She sighed, seeming reluctant to answer. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence — about ten years after I was… born…created, whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and I resented him for curbing my appetite. So I went off on my own for a time."

"Really?" I was intrigued, rather than frightened, as I perhaps should have been.

She could tell. I vaguely realized that we were headed up the next flight of stairs, but I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings.

"That doesn't repulse you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I guess… it sounds reasonable."

She barked a laugh, more loudly than before. We were at the top of the stairs now, in another paneled hallway.

"From the time of my new birth," she murmured, "I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Hudson — I could read his perfect sincerity, understand exactly why he lived the way he did.

"It took me only a few years to return to Hudson and recommit to his vision. I thought I would be exempt from the… depression… that accompanies a conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl — if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible."

I shivered, imagining only too clearly what she described — the alley at night, the frightened girl, the dark man behind her. And Marceline, Marceline as she hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened than before?

"But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified. And I went back to Hudson and Madalyn. They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved."

We'd come to a stop in front of the last door in the hall.

"My room," she informed me, opening it and pulling me through.

Her room faced south, with a wall-sized window like the great room below. The whole back side of the house must be glass. Her view looked down on the winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain range. The mountains were much closer than I would have believed.

The western wall was completely covered with shelf after shelf of CDs. Her room was better stocked than a music store. In the corner was a sophisticated-looking sound system, the kind I was afraid to touch because I'd be sure to break something. There was no bed, only a wide and inviting black leather sofa. The floor was covered with a thick golden carpet, and the walls were hung with heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade.

"Good acoustics?" I guessed.

She chuckled and nodded.

She picked up a remote and turned the stereo on. It was quiet, but the soft jazz number sounded like the band was in the room with us. I went to look at her mind-boggling music collection.

"How do you have these organized?" I asked, unable to find any rhyme or reason to the titles.

She wasn't paying attention.

"Ummm, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame," she said absently.

I turned, and she was looking at me with a peculiar expression in her eyes.

"What?"

"I was prepared to feel… relieved. Having you know about everything, not needing to keep secrets from you. But I didn't expect to feel more than that. I _like_ it. It makes me… happy." She shrugged, smiling slightly.

"I'm glad," I said, smiling back. I'd worried that she might regret telling me these things. It was good to know that wasn't the case.

But then, as her eyes dissected my expression, her smile faded and her forehead creased. "You're still waiting for the running and the screaming, aren't you?" I guessed.

A faint smile touched her lips, and she nodded.

"I hate to burst your bubble, but you're really not as scary as you think you are. I don't find you scary at all, actually," I lied casually.

She stopped, raising her eyebrows in blatant disbelief. Then she flashed a wide, wicked smile.

"You _really_ shouldn't have said that," she chuckled.

She growled, a low sound in the back of her throat; her lips curled back over her perfect teeth. Her body shifted suddenly, half-crouched, tensed like a lion about to pounce.

I backed away from her, glaring. "You wouldn't."

I didn't see her leap at me — it was much too fast. I only found myself suddenly airborne, and then we crashed onto the sofa, knocking it into the wall. All the while, her arms formed an iron cage of protection around me — I was barely jostled. But I still was gasping as I tried to right myself.

She wasn't having that. She curled me into a ball against her, holding me more securely than iron chains. I glared at her in alarm, but she seemed well in control, her jaw relaxed as she grinned, her eyes bright only with humor.

"You were saying?" she growled playfully.

"That you are a very, very terrifying monster," I said, my sarcasm marred a bit by my breathless voice.

"Much better," she approved.

"Um." I struggled. "Can I get up now?"

She just laughed.

"Can we come in?" a soft voice sounded from the hall.

I struggled to free myself, but Marceline merely readjusted me so that I was somewhat more conventionally seated on her lap. I could see it was Flame, then, and Finn behind her in the doorway. My cheeks burned, but Marceline seemed at ease.

"Go ahead." Marceline was still chuckling quietly.

Flame seemed to find nothing unusual in our embrace; she walked — almost danced, her movements were so graceful — to the center of the room, where she folded herself sinuously onto the floor. Finn, however, paused at the door, his expression a trifle shocked. He stared at Marceline's face, and I wondered if he was tasting the atmosphere with his unusual sensitivity.

"It sounded like you were having Bonnie for lunch, and we came to see if you would share" Flame announced. I stiffened for an instant, until I realized Marceline was grinning — whether at her comment or my response, I couldn't tell.

"Sorry, I don't believe I have enough to spare," she replied, her arms holding me recklessly close.

"Actually" Finn said, smiling despite himself as he walked into the room, "Flame says there's going to be a real storm tonight, and Jake wants to play ball. Are you game?"

The words were all common enough, but the context confused me. I gathered that Flame was a bit more reliable than the weatherman, though.

Marceline's eyes lit up, but she hesitated.

"Of course you should bring Bonnie," Flame chirped. I thought I saw Finn throw a quick glance at her.

"Do you want to go?" Marceline asked me, excited, her expression vivid.

"Sure." I couldn't disappoint such a face. "Um, where are we going?"

"We have to wait for thunder to play ball — you'll see why," she promised.

"Will I need an umbrella?"

They all three laughed aloud.

"Will she?" Finn asked Flame.

"No." She was positive. "The storm will hit over town. It should be dry enough in the clearing."

"Good, then." The enthusiasm in Finn's voice was catching, naturally. I found myself eager, rather than scared stiff.

"Let's go see if Hudson will come." Flame bounded up and to the door in a fashion that would break any ballerina's heart.

"Like you don't know," Finn teased, and they were swiftly on their way. Finn managed to inconspicuously close the door behind them.

"What will we be playing?" I demanded.

" _You_ will be watching," Marceline clarified. "We will be playing baseball."

I rolled my eyes. "Vampires like baseball?"

"It's the American pastime," she said with mock solemnity.


	17. The Game

17\. The Game

It was just beginning to drizzle when Marceline turned onto my street. Up until that moment, I'd had no doubt that she'd be staying with me while I spent a few interim hours in the real world.

And then I saw the black car, a weathered Ford, parked in Gummy's driveway — and heard Marceline mutter something unintelligible in a low, harsh voice.

Leaning away from the rain under the shallow front porch, BMO Black stood behind his father's wheelchair. Hugwo's face was impassive as stone as Marceline parked my truck against the curb. BMO stared down, his expression mortified.

Marceline's low voice was furious. "This is crossing the line."

"He came to warn Gummy?" I guessed, more horrified than angry.

Marceline just nodded, answering Hugwo's gaze through the rain with narrowed eyes.

I felt weak with relief that Gummy wasn't home yet.

"Let me deal with this," I suggested. Marceline's black glare made me anxious.

To my surprise, she agreed. "That's probably best. Be careful, though. The child has no idea."

I bridled a little at the word _child_. "BMO is not that much younger than I am," I reminded her.

She looked at me then, her anger abruptly fading. "Oh, I know," she assured me with a grin.

I sighed and put my hand on the door handle.

"Get them inside," she instructed, "so I can leave. I'll be back around dusk."

"Do you want my truck?" I offered, meanwhile wondering how I would explain its absence to Gummy.

She rolled her eyes. "I could _walk_ home faster than this truck moves."

"You don't have to leave," I said wistfully.

She smiled at my glum expression. "Actually, I do. After you get rid of them" — she threw a dark glance in the Blacks' direction — "you still have to prepare Gummy to meet your new girlfriend." She grinned widely, showing all of her teeth.

I groaned. "Thanks a lot."

She smiled the crooked smile that I loved. "I'll be back soon," she promised. Her eyes flickered back to the porch, and then she leaned in to swiftly kiss me just under the edge of my jaw. My heart lurched frantically, and I, too, glanced toward the porch. Hugwo's face was no longer impassive, and her hands clutched at the armrests of her chair.

" _Soon_ ," I stressed as I opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

I could feel her eyes on my back as I half-ran through the light sprinkle toward the porch.

"Hey, Hugwo. Hi, BMO." I greeted them as cheerfully as I could manage. "Gummy's gone for the day — I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long," Hugwo said in a subdued tone. His black eyes were piercing. "I just wanted to bring this up." He indicated a brown paper sack resting in his lap.

"Thanks," I said, though I had no idea what it could be. "Why don't you come in for a minute and dry off?"

I pretended to be oblivious to his intense scrutiny as I unlocked the door, and waved them in ahead of me.

"Here, let me take that," I offered, turning to shut the door. I allowed myself one last glance at Marceline. She was waiting, perfectly still, her eyes solemn.

"You'll want to put it in the fridge," Hugwo noted as he handed me the package. "It's some of Harry Clearwater's homemade fish fry — Gummy's favorite. The fridge keeps it drier." He shrugged.

"Thanks," I repeated, but with feeling this time. "I was running out of new ways to fix fish, and he's bound to bring home more tonight."

"Fishing again?" Hugwo asked with a subtle gleam in his eye. "Down at the usual spot? Maybe I'll run by and see him."

"No," I quickly lied, my face going hard. "He was headed someplace new… but I have no idea where."

He took in my changed expression, and it made him thoughtful.

"BMO," he said, still appraising me. "Why don't you go get that new picture of Rebecca out of the car? I'll leave that for Gummy, too."

"Where is it?" BMO asked, his voice morose. I glanced at him, but he was staring at the floor, his eyebrows pulling together.

"I think I saw it in the trunk," Hugwo said. "You may have to dig for it."

BMO slouched back out into the rain.

Hugwo and I faced each other in silence. After a few seconds, the quiet started to feel awkward, so I turned and headed to the kitchen. I could hear his wet wheels squeak against the linoleum as he followed.

I shoved the bag onto the crowded top shelf of the fridge, and spun around to confront him. His deeply lined face was unreadable.

"Gummy won't be back for a long time." My voice was almost rude. He nodded in agreement, but said nothing.

"Thanks again for the fish fry," I hinted. He continued nodding. I sighed and folded my arms across my chest. He seemed to sense that I had given up on small talk.

"Bonnie," he said, and then he hesitated.

I waited.

"Bonnie," he said again, "Gummy is one of my best friends."

"Yes."

He spoke each word carefully in his rumbling voice. "I noticed you've been spending time with one of the Abadeers."

"Yes," I repeated curtly.

His eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's none of my business, but I don't think that is such a good idea."

"You're right," I agreed. "It _is_ none of your business."

He raised his graying eyebrows at my tone. "You probably don't know this, but the Abadeer family has an unpleasant reputation on the reservation."

"Actually, I did know that," I informed him in a hard voice. This surprised him. "But that reputation couldn't be deserved, could it? Because the Abadeers never set foot on the reservation, do they?" I could see that my less than subtle reminder of the agreement that both bound and protected his tribe pulled him up short.

"That's true," he acceded, his eyes guarded. "You seem… well informed about the Abadeers. More informed than I expected."

I stared him down. "Maybe even better informed than you are."

He pursed his thick lips as he considered that. "Maybe." he allowed, but his eyes were shrewd. "Is Gummy as well informed?"

He had found the weak chink in my armor.

"Gummy likes the Abadeers a lot," I hedged. He clearly understood my evasion. His expression was unhappy, but unsurprised.

"It's not my business," he said. "But it may be Gummy's."

"Though it would be my business, again, whether or not I think that it's Gummy's business, right?"

I wondered if he even understood my confused question as I struggled not to say anything compromising. But he seemed to. He thought about it while the rain picked up against the roof, the only sound breaking the silence.

"Yes," he finally surrendered. "I guess that's your business, too."

I sighed with relief. "Thanks, Hugwo."

"Just think about what you're doing, Bonnie," he urged.

"Okay," I agreed quickly.

He frowned. "What I meant to say was, don't do what you're doing."

I looked into his eyes, filled with nothing but concern for me, and there was nothing I could say.

Just then the front door banged loudly, and I jumped at the sound.

"There's no picture anywhere in that car." BMO's complaining voice reached us before he did. The shoulders of his shirt were stained with the rain, his hair dripping, when he rounded the corner.

"Hmm," Hugwo grunted, suddenly detached, spinning his chair around to face his son. "I guess I left it at home."

BMO rolled his eyes dramatically. "Great."

"Well, Bonnie, tell Gummy" — Hugwo paused before continuing — "that we stopped by, I mean."

"I will," I muttered.

BMO was surprised. "Are we leaving already?"

"Gummy's gonna be out late," Hugwo explained as he rolled himself past BMO.

"Oh." BMO looked disappointed. "Well, I guess I'll see you later, then, Bonnie."

"Sure," I agreed.

"Take care," Hugwo warned me. I didn't answer.

BMO helped his father out the door. I waved briefly, glancing swiftly toward my now-empty truck, and then shut the door before they were gone.

I stood in the hallway for a minute, listening to the sound of their car as it backed out and drove away. I stayed where I was, waiting for the irritation and anxiety to subside. When the tension eventually faded a bit, I headed upstairs to change out of my dressy clothes.

I tried on a couple of different tops, not sure what to expect tonight. As I concentrated on what was coming, what had just passed became insignificant. Now that I was removed from Finn's and Marceline's influence, I began to make up for not being terrified before. I gave up quickly on choosing an outfit — throwing on an old flannel shirt and jeans — knowing I would be in my raincoat all night anyway.

The phone rang and I sprinted downstairs to get it. There was only one voice I wanted to hear; anything else would be a disappointment. But I knew that _if he_ wanted to talk to me, he'd probably just materialize in my room.

"Hello?" I asked, breathless.

"Bonnie? It's me," Fiona said.

"Oh, hey, Fio." I scrambled for a moment to come back down to reality. It felt like months rather than days since I'd spoken to Fio. "How was the dance?"

"It was so much fun!" Fiona gushed. Needing no more invitation than that, she launched into a minute-by-minute account of the previous night. I _mm_ _'d_ and _ahh'd_ at the right places, but it wasn't easy to concentrate. Fiona, Marshall, the dance, the school — they all seemed strangely irrelevant at the moment. My eyes kept flashing to the window, trying to judge the degree of light behind the heavy clouds.

"Did you hear what I said, Bonnie?" Fio asked, irritated.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, Marshall kissed me! Can you believe it?"

"That's wonderful, Fio," I said.

"So what did _you_ do yesterday?" Fiona challenged, still sounding bothered by my lack of attention. Or maybe she was upset because I hadn't asked for details.

"Nothing, really. I just hung around outside to enjoy the sun."

I heard Gummy's car in the garage.

"Did you ever hear anything more from Marceline Abadeer?"

The front door slammed and I could hear Gummy banging around under the stairs, putting his tackle away.

"Um." I hesitated, not sure what my story was anymore.

"Hi there, kiddo!" Gummy called as he walked into the kitchen. I waved at him.

Fio heard his voice. "Oh, your dad's there. Never mind — we'll talk tomorrow. See you in Trig."

"See ya, Fio." I hung up the phone.

"Hey, Dad," I said. He was scrubbing his hands in the sink. "Where's the fish?"

"I put it out in the freezer."

"I'll go grab a few pieces before they freeze — Hugwo dropped off some of Harry Clearwater's fish fry this afternoon." I worked to sound enthusiastic.

"He did?" Gummy's eyes lit up. "That's my favorite."

Gummy cleaned up while I got dinner ready. It didn't take long till we were sitting at the table, eating in silence. Gummy was enjoying his food. I was wondering desperately how to fulfill my assignment, struggling to think of a way to broach the subject.

"What did you do with yourself today?" he asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Well, this afternoon I just hung out around the house…" Only the very recent part of this afternoon, actually. I tried to keep my voice upbeat, but my stomach was hollow. "And this morning I was over at the Abadeers '."

Gummy dropped his fork.

"Dr. Abadeer's place?" he asked in astonishment.

I pretended not to notice his reaction. "Yeah."

"What were you doing there?" He hadn't picked his fork back up.

"Well, I sort of have a date with Marceline Abadeer tonight, and she wanted to introduce me to her parents… Dad?"

It appeared that Gummy was having an aneurysm.

"Dad, are you all right?"

"You are going out with Marceline Abadeer?" he thundered.

Uh-oh. "I thought you liked the Abadeers."

"She's too old for you," he ranted.

"We're both juniors," I corrected, though he was more right than he dreamed.

"Wait…" He paused. "Which one is Malin?"

" _Marceline_ is the youngest, the one with the reddish ebony hair." The beautiful one, the godlike one…

"Oh, well, that's" — he struggled — "better, I guess. I don't like the look of that big one. I'm sure he's a nice boy and all, but he looks too… mature for you. Is this Malin your girlfriend?"

"It's Marceline, Dad."

"Is she?"

"Sort of, I guess."

"You said last night that you weren't interested in any of the boys in town." But he picked up his fork again, so I could see the worst was over.

"Well, Marceline is not a boy, Dad... and she's not exactly from town."

He gave me a disparaging look as he chewed.

"And, anyways," I continued, "It's kind of at an early stage, you know. Don't embarrass me with all the boy/girlfriend talk, okay?"

"When is she coming over?"

"She'll be here in a few minutes."

"Where is she taking you?"

I groaned loudly. "I hope you're getting the Spanish Inquisition out of your system now. We're going to play baseball with her family."

His face puckered, and then he finally chuckled. " _You_ 're playing baseball?"

"Well, I'll probably watch most of the time."

"You must really like this girl," he observed suspiciously. I sighed and rolled my eyes for his benefit.

I heard the roar of an engine pull up in front of the house. I jumped up and started cleaning my dishes. "Leave the dishes, I can do them tonight. You baby me too much."

The doorbon rang, and Gummy stalked off to answer it. I was half a step behind him.

I hadn't realized how hard it was pouring outside. Marceline stood in the halo of the porch light, looking like a female model in an advertisement for raincoats.

"Come on in, Marceline."

I breathed a sigh of relief when Gummy got her name right. "Thanks, Chief Gum," Marceline said in a respectful voice. "Go ahead and call me Gummy. Here, I'll take your jacket."

"Thanks, sir."

"Have a seat there, Marceline." I grimaced.

Marceline sat down fluidly in the only chair, forcing me to sit next to Chief Gum on the sofa. I quickly shot her a dirty look. She winked behind Gummy's back.

"So I hear you're getting my girl to watch baseball." Only in Washington would the fact that it was raining buckets have no bearing at all on the playing of outdoor sports.

"Yes, sir, that's the plan." She didn't look surprised that I'd told my father the truth. She might have been listening, though.

"Well, more power to you, I guess." Gummy laughed, and Marceline joined in.

"Okay." I stood up. "Enough humor at my expense. Let's go." I walked back to the hall and pulled on my jacket. They followed.

"Not too late, Bon."

"Don't worry, Gummy, I'll have her home early," Marceline promised.

"You take care of my girl, all right?"

I groaned, but they ignored me.

"She'll be safe with me, I promise, sir."

Gummy couldn't doubt Marceline's sincerity, it rang in every word.

I stalked out. They both laughed, and Marceline followed me.

I stopped dead on the porch. There, behind my truck, was a monster Jeep. Its tires were higher than my waist. There were metal guards over the headlights and tail-lights, and four large spotlights attached to the crash bar. The hardtop was shiny red.

Gummy let out a low whistle.

"Wear your seat belts," she choked out.

Marceline followed me around to my side and opened the door. I gauged the distance to the seat and prepared to jump for it. She sighed, and then lifted me in with one hand. I hoped Gummy didn't notice.

As she went around to the driver's side, at a normal, human pace, I tried to put on my seat belt. But there were too many buckles.

"What's all this?" I asked when she opened the door.

"It's an off-road in harness."

"Uh-oh."

I tried to find the right places for all the buckles to fit, but it wasn't going too quickly. She sighed again and reached over to help me. I was glad that the rain was too heavy to see Gummy clearly on the porch. That meant he couldn't see how Marceline's hands lingered at my neck, brushed along my collarbones. I gave up trying to help her and focused on not hyperventilating.

Marceline turned the key and the engine roared to life. We pulled away from the house.

"This is a… um… _big_ Jeep you have."

"It's Jake's. I didn't think you'd want to run the whole way."

"Where do you keep this thing?"

"We remodeled one of the out buildings into a garage."

"Aren't you going to put on your seat belt?"

She threw me a disbelieving look.

Then something sunk in.

"Run the _whole_ way? As in, we're still going to run part of the way?" My voice edged up a few octaves.

She grinned tightly. "You're not going to run."

" _I'm_ going to be sick."

"Keep your eyes closed, you'll be fine."

I bit my lip, fighting the panic.

She leaned over to kiss the top of my head, and then groaned. I looked at her, puzzled.

"You smell so good in the rain," she explained.

"In a good way, or in a bad way?" I asked cautiously.

She sighed. "Both, always both."

I don't know how she found her way in the gloom and downpour, but she somehow found a side road that was less of a road and more of a mountain path. For a long while conversation was impossible, because I was bouncing up and down on the seat like a jackhammer. She seemed to enjoy the ride, though, smiling hugely the whole way.

And then we came to the end of the road; the trees formed green walls on three sides of the Jeep. The rain was a mere drizzle, slowing every second, the sky brighter through the clouds.

"Sorry, Bonnie, we have to go on foot from here."

"You know what? I'll just wait here."

"What happened to all your courage? You were extraordinary this morning."

"I haven't forgotten the last time yet." Could it have been only yesterday?

She was around to my side of the car in a blur. She started unbuckling me.

"I'll get those, you go on ahead," I protested.

"Hmmm…" she mused as she quickly finished. "It seems I'm going to have to tamper with your memory."

Before I could react, she pulled me from the Jeep and set my feet on the ground. It was barely misting now; Flame was going to be right.

"Tamper with my memory?" I asked nervously.

"Something like that." She was watching me intently, carefully, but there was humor deep in her eyes. She placed her hands against the Jeep on either side of my head and leaned forward, forcing me to press back against the door. She leaned in even closer, her face inches from mine. I had no room to escape.

"Now," she breathed, and just her smell disturbed my thought processes, "what exactly are you worrying about?"

"Well, um, hitting a tree —" I gulped "— and dying. And then getting sick."

She fought back a smile. Then she bent her head down and touched her cold lips softly to the hollow at the base of my throat.

"Are you still worried now?" she murmured against my skin.

"Yes." I struggled to concentrate. "About hitting trees and getting sick."

Her nose drew a line up the skin of my throat to the point of my chin. Her cold breath tickled my skin.

"And now?" Her lips whispered against my jaw.

"Trees," I gasped. "Motion sickness."

She lifted her face to kiss my eyelids. "Bonnie, you don't really think I would hit a tree, do you?"

"No, but _I_ might." There was no confidence in my voice. She smelled an easy victory.

She kissed slowly down my cheek, stopping just at the corner of my mouth.

"Would I let a tree hurt you?" Her lips barely brushed against my trembling lower lip.

"No," I breathed. I knew there was a second part to my brilliant defense, but I couldn't quite call it back.

"You see," she said, her lips moving against mine. "There's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

"No," I sighed, giving up.

Then she took my face in her hands almost roughly, and kissed me in earnest, her unyielding lips moving against mine.

There really was no excuse for my behavior. Obviously I knew better by now. And yet I couldn't seem to stop from reacting exactly as I had the first time. Instead of keeping safely motionless, my arms reached up to twine tightly around her neck, and I was suddenly welded to her stone curved figure. I sighed, and my lips parted.

She staggered back, breaking my grip effortlessly.

"Damn it, Bonnie!" she broke off, gasping. "You'll be the death of me, I swear you will."

I leaned over, bracing my hands against my knees for support. "You're indestructible," I mumbled, trying to catch my breath.

"I might have believed that before I met _you_. Now let's get out of here before I do something really stupid," she growled.

She threw me across her back as she had before, and I could see the extra effort it took for her to be as gentle as she was. I locked my legs around her waist and secured my arms in a choke hold around her neck.

"Don't forget to close your eyes," she warned severely.

I quickly tucked my face into her shoulder blade, under my own arm, and squeezed my eyes shut.

And I could hardly tell we were moving. I could feel her gliding along beneath me, but she could have been strolling down the sidewalk, the movement was so smooth. I was tempted to peek, just to see if she was really flying through the forest like before, but I resisted. It wasn't worth that awful dizziness. I contented myself with listening to her breath come and go evenly.

I wasn't quite sure we had stopped until she reached back and touched my hair.

"It's over, Bonnie."

I dared to open my eyes, and, sure enough, we were at a standstill. I stiffly unlocked my stranglehold on her body and slipped to the ground, landing on my backside.

"Oh!" I huffed as I hit the wet ground.

She stared at me incredulously, evidently not sure whether she was still too mad to find me funny. But my bewildered expression pushed her over the edge, and she broke into a roar of laughter.

I picked myself up, ignoring her as I brushed the mud and bracken off the back of my jacket. That only made her laugh harder. Annoyed, I began to stride off into the forest.

I felt her arm around my waist.

"Where are you going, Bonnie?"

"To watch a baseball game. You don't seem to be interested in playing anymore, but I'm sure the others will have fun without you."

"You're going the wrong way."

I turned around without looking at her, and stalked off in the opposite direction. She caught me again.

"Don't be mad, I couldn't help myself. You should have seen your face." She chuckled before she could stop herself.

"Oh, you're the only one who's allowed to get mad?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"I wasn't mad at you."

"'Bonnie, you'll be the death of me'?" I quoted sourly.

" _That_ was simply a statement of fact."

I tried to turn away from her again, but she held me fast.

"You were mad," I insisted.

"Yes."

"But you just said —"

"That I wasn't mad at _you_. Can't you see that, Bonnie?" She was suddenly intense, all trace of teasing gone. "Don't you understand?"

"See what?" I demanded, confused by her sudden mood swing as much as her words.

"I'm never angry with you — how could I be? Brave, trusting… warm as you are."

"Then why?" I whispered, remembering the black moods that pulled her away from me, that I'd always interpreted as well-justified frustration — frustration at my weakness, my slowness, my unruly human reactions…

She put her hands carefully on both sides of my face. "I infuriate myself," she said gently. "The way I can't seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself. I should be stronger, I should be able to —"

I placed my hand over her mouth. "Don't."

She took my hand, moving it from her lips, but holding it to her face.

"I love you," she said. "It's a poor excuse for what I'm doing, but it's still true."

It was the first time she'd said she loved me — in so many words. She might not realize it, but I certainly did.

"Now, please try to behave yourself," she continued, and she bent to softly brush her lips against mine.

I held properly still. Then I sighed.

"You promised Chief Bubble-Gum that you would have me home early, remember? We'd better get going."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled wistfully and released all of me but one hand. She led me a few feet through the tall, wet ferns and draping moss, around a massive hemlock tree, and we were there, on the edge of an enormous open field in the lap of the Olympic peaks. It was twice the size of any baseball stadium.

I could see the others all there; Madalyn, Jake, and Lady, sitting on a bare outcropping of rock, were the closest to us, maybe a hundred yards away. Much farther out I could see Finn and Flame, at least a quarter of a mile apart, appearing to throw something back and forth, but I never saw any ball. It looked like Hudson was marking bases, but could they really be that far apart?

When we came into view, the three on the rocks rose.

Madalyn started toward us. Jake followed after a long look at Lady's back; Lady had risen gracefully and strode off toward the field without a glance in our direction. My stomach quivered uneasily in response.

"Was that you we heard, Marceline?" Madalyn asked as she approached.

"It sounded like a bear choking," Jake clarified.

I smiled hesitantly at Madalyn. "That was her."

"Bonnie was being unintentionally funny," Marceline explained, quickly settling the score.

Flame had left her position and was running, or dancing, toward us. She hurtled to a fluid stop at our feet. "It's time," she announced.

As soon as she spoke, a deep rumble of thunder shook the forest beyond us, and then crashed westward toward town.

"Eerie, isn't it?" Jake said with easy familiarity, winking at me.

"Let's go." Flame reached for Jake's hand and they darted toward the oversized field; she ran like a gazelle. He was nearly as graceful and just as fast — yet Jake could never be compared to a gazelle.

"Are you ready for some ball?" Marceline asked, her eyes eager, bright.

I tried to sound appropriately enthusiastic. "Go team!"

She snickered and, after mussing my hair, bounded off after the other two. Her run was more aggressive, a cheetah rather than a gazelle, and she quickly overtook them. The grace and power took my breath away.

"Shall we go down?" Madalyn asked in her soft, melodic voice, and I realized I was staring openmouthed after her. I quickly reassembled my expression and nodded. Madalyn kept a few feet between us, and I wondered if she was still being careful not to frighten me. She matched her stride to mine without seeming impatient at the pace.

"You don't play with them?" I asked shyly.

"No, I prefer to referee — I like keeping them honest," she explained.

"Do they like to cheat, then?"

"Oh yes — you should hear the arguments they get into! Actually, I hope you don't, you would think they were raised by a pack of wolves."

"You sound like my mom," I laughed, surprised.

She laughed, too. "Well, I do think of them as my children in most ways. I never could get over my mothering instincts — did Marceline tell you I had lost a child?"

"No," I murmured, stunned, scrambling to understand what lifetime she was remembering.

"Yes, my first and only baby. He died just a few days after he was born, the poor tiny thing," she sighed. "It broke my heart — that's why I jumped off the cliff, you know," she added matter-of-factly.

"Marceline just said you f-fell," I stammered.

"Always the gentlewoman." She smiled. "Marceline was the first of my new kids. I've always thought of her that way, even though she's older than I, in one way at least." She smiled at me warmly. "That's why I'm so happy that she's found you, dear." The endearment sounded very natural on her lips. "She's been the odd one out for far too long; it's hurt me to see her alone."

"You don't mind, then?" I asked, hesitant again. "That I'm… all wrong for her?"

"No." She was thoughtful. "You're what she wants. It will work out, somehow," she said, though her forehead creased with worry. Another peal of thunder began.

Madalyn stopped then; apparently, we'd reached the edge of the field. It looked as if they had formed teams. Marceline was far out in left field, Hudson stood between the first and second bases, and Flame held the ball, positioned on the spot that must be the pitcher's mound.

Jake was swinging an aluminum bat; it whistled almost untraceably through the air. I waited for him to approach home plate, but then I realized, as he took his stance, that he was already there — farther from the pitcher's mound than I would have thought possible. Finn stood several feet behind him, catching for the other team. Of course, none of them had gloves.

"All right," Madalyn called in a clear voice, which I knew even Marceline would hear, as far out as she was. "Batter up."

Flame stood straight, deceptively motionless. Her style seemed to be stealth rather than an intimidating windup. She held the ball in both hands at her waist, and then, like the strike of a cobra, her right hand flicked out and the ball smacked into Finn's hand.

"Was that a strike?" I whispered to Madalyn.

"If they don't hit it, it's a strike," she told me.

Finn hurled the ball back to Flame's waiting hand. She permitted herself a brief grin. And then her hand spun out again.

This time the bat somehow made it around in time to smash into the invisible ball. The crack of impact was shattering, thunderous; it echoed off the mountains — I immediately understood the necessity of the thunderstorm.

The ball shot like a meteor above the field, flying deep into the surrounding forest.

"Home run," I murmured.

"Wait" Madalyn cautioned, listening intently, one hand raised. Jake was a blur around the bases, Hudson shadowing him. I realized Marceline was missing.

"Out!" Madalyn cried in a clear voice. I stared in disbelief as Marceline sprang from the fringe of the trees, ball in her upraised hand, her wide grin visible even to me.

"Jake hits the hardest," Madalyn explained, "but Marceline runs the fastest."

The inning continued before my incredulous eyes. It was impossible to keep up with the speed at which the ball flew, the rate at which their bodies raced around the field.

I learned the other reason they waited for a thunderstorm to play when Finn, trying to avoid Marceline's infallible fielding, hit a ground ball toward Hudson. Hudson ran into the ball, and then raced Finn to first base. When they collided, the sound was like the crash of two massive falling boulders. I jumped up in concern, but they were somehow unscathed.

"Safe," Madalyn called in a calm voice.

Jake's team was up by one — Lady managed to flit around the bases after tagging up on one of Jake's long flies — when Marceline caught the third out. She sprinted to my side, sparkling with excitement.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"One thing's for sure, I'll never be able to sit through dull old Major League Baseball again."

"And it sounds like you did so much of that before," she laughed.

"I am a little disappointed," I teased.

"Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"Well, it would be nice if I could find just one thing you didn't do better than everyone else on the planet."

She flashed her special crooked smile, leaving me breathless.

"I'm up," she said, heading for the plate.

She played intelligently, keeping the ball low, out of the reach of Lady's always-ready hand in the outfield, gaining two bases like lightning before Jake could get the ball back in play. Hudson knocked one so far out of the field — with a boom that hurt my ears — that he and Marceline both made it in. Flame slapped them dainty high fives.

The score constantly changed as the game continued, and they razzed each other like any street ballplayers as they took turns with the lead. Occasionally Madalyn would call them to order. The thunder rumbled on, but we stayed dry, as Flame had predicted.

Hudson was up to bat, Marceline catching, when Flame suddenly gasped. My eyes were on Marceline, as usual, and I saw her head snap up to look at her. Their eyes met and something flowed between them in an instant. She was at my side before the others could ask Flame what was wrong.

"Flame?" Madalyn's voice was tense.

"I didn't see — I couldn't tell," she whispered.

All the others were gathered by this time.

"What is it, Flame?" Hudson asked with the calm voice of authority.

"They were traveling much quicker than I thought. I can see I had the perspective wrong before," she murmured.

Finn leaned over her, his posture protective. "What changed?" he asked.

"They heard us playing, and it changed their path," she said, contrite, as if she felt responsible for whatever had frightened her.

Seven pairs of quick eyes flashed to my face and away.

"How soon?" Hudson said, turning toward Marceline.

A look of intense concentration crossed her face.

"Less than five minutes. They're running — they want to play." She scowled.

"Can you make it?" Hudson asked her, her eyes flicking toward me again.

"No, not carrying —" She cut short. "Besides, the last thing we need is for them to catch the scent and start hunting."

"How many?" Jake asked Flame.

"Three," she answered tersely.

"Three!" he scoffed. "Let them come." The steel bands of muscle flexed along his massive arms.

For a split second that seemed much longer than it really was, Hudson deliberated. Only Jake seemed unperturbed; the rest stared at Hudson's face with anxious eyes.

"Let's just continue the game," Hudson finally decided. His voice was cool and level. "Flame said they were simply curious."

All this was said in a flurry of words that lasted only a few seconds. I had listened carefully and caught most of it, though I couldn't hear what Madalyn now asked Marceline with a silent vibration of her lips. I only saw the slight shake of her head and the look of relief on her face.

"You catch, Madalyn," she said. "I'll call it now." And she planted herself in front of me.

The others returned to the field, warily sweeping the dark forest with their sharp eyes. Flame and Madalyn seemed to orient themselves around where I stood.

"Take your hair down," Marceline said in a low, even voice.

I obediently slid the rubber band out of my hair and shook it out around me.

I stated the obvious. "The others are coming now."

"Yes, stay very still, keep quiet, and don't move from my side, please." She hid the stress in her voice well, but I could hear it. She pulled my long hair forward, around my face.

"That won't help" Flame said softly. "I could smell her across the field."

"I know." A hint of frustration colored her tone.

Hudson stood at the plate, and the others joined the game halfheartedly.

"What did Madalyn ask you?" I whispered.

She hesitated for a second before she answered. "Whether they were thirsty," she muttered unwillingly.

The seconds ticked by; the game progressed with apathy now. No one dared to hit harder than a bunt, and Jake, Lady, and Finn hovered in the infield. Now and again, despite the fear that numbed my brain, I was aware of Lady's eyes on me. They were expressionless, but something about the way she held her mouth made me think she was angry.

Marceline paid no attention to the game at all, eyes and mind ranging the forest.

"I'm sorry, Bonnie," she muttered fiercely. "It was stupid, irresponsible, to expose you like this. I'm so sorry."

I heard her breath stop, and her eyes zeroed in on right field. She took a half step, angling herself between me and what was coming.

Hudson, Jake, and the others turned in the same direction, hearing sounds of passage much too faint for my ears.


	18. The Hunt

18\. The Hunt

They emerged one by one from the forest edge, ranging a dozen meters apart. The first male into the clearing fell back immediately, allowing the other male to take the front, orienting himself around the tall, dark-haired man in a manner that clearly displayed who led the pack. The third was a woman; from this distance, all I could see of her was that her hair was a startling shade of red.

They closed ranks before they continued cautiously toward Marceline's family, exhibiting the natural respect of a troop of predators as it encounters a larger, unfamiliar group of its own kind.

As they approached, I could see how different they were from the Abadeers. Their walk was catlike, a gait that seemed constantly on the edge of shifting into a crouch. They dressed in the ordinary gear of backpackers: jeans and casual button-down shirts in heavy, weatherproof fabrics. The clothes were frayed, though, with wear, and they were barefoot. Both men had cropped hair, but the woman's brilliant orange hair was filled with leaves and debris from the woods.

Their sharp eyes carefully took in the more polished, urbane stance of Hudson, who, flanked by Jake and Finn, stepped guardedly forward to meet them. Without any seeming communication between them, they each straightened into a more casual, erect bearing.

The man in front was easily the most beautiful, his skin olive-toned beneath the typical pallor, his hair a glossy black. He was of a medium build, hard-muscled, of course, but nothing next to Jake's brawn. He smiled an easy smile, exposing a flash of gleaming white teeth.

The woman was wilder, her eyes shifting restlessly between the men facing her, and the loose grouping around me, her chaotic hair quivering in the slight breeze. Her posture was distinctly feline. The second male hovered unobtrusively behind them, slighter than the leader, his light brown hair and regular features both nondescript. His eyes, though completely still, somehow seemed the most vigilant.

Their eyes were different, too. Not the gold or black I had come to expect, but a deep burgundy color that was disturbing and sinister.

The dark-haired man, still smiling, stepped toward Hudson.

"We thought we heard a game," he said in a relaxed voice with the slightest of French accents. "I'm Laurent, these are Tiffany and Simon." He gestured to the vampires beside him.

"I'm Hudson. This is my family, Jake and Finn, Lady, Madalyn and Flame, Marceline and Bonnie." He pointed us out in groups, deliberately not calling attention to individuals. I felt a shock when he said my name.

"Do you have room for a few more players?" Laurent asked sociably.

Hudson matched Laurent's friendly tone. "Actually, we were just finishing up. But we'd certainly be interested another time. Are you planning to stay in the area for long?"

"We're headed north, in fact, but we were curious to see who was in the neighborhood. We haven't run into any company in a long time."

"No, this region is usually empty except for us and the occasional visitor, like yourselves."

The tense atmosphere had slowly subsided into a casual conversation; I guessed that Finn was using his peculiar gift to control the situation.

"What's your hunting range?" Laurent casually inquired.

Hudson ignored the assumption behind the inquiry. "The Olympic Range here, up and down the Coast Ranges on occasion. We keep a permanent residence nearby. There's another permanent settlement like ours up near Denali."

Laurent rocked back on his heels slightly.

"Permanent? How do you manage that?" There was honest curiosity in his voice.

"Why don't you come back to our home with us and we can talk comfortably?" Hudson invited. "It's a rather long story."

Simon and Tiffany exchanged a surprised look at the mention of the word "home," but Laurent controlled his expression better.

"That sounds very interesting, and welcome." His smile was genial. "We've been on the hunt all the way down from Ontario, and we haven't had the chance to clean up in a while." His eyes moved appreciatively over Hudson's refined appearance.

"Please don't take offense, but we'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from hunting in this immediate area. We have to stay inconspicuous, you understand," Hudson explained.

"Of course." Laurent nodded. "We certainly won't encroach on your territory. We just ate outside of Seattle, anyway," he laughed. A shiver ran up my spine.

"We'll show you the way if you'd like to run with us — Jake and Flame, you can go with Marceline and Bonnie to get the Jeep," he casually added.

Three things seemed to happen simultaneously while Hudson was speaking. My hair ruffled with the light breeze, Marceline stiffened, and the second male, Simon, suddenly whipped his head around, scrutinizing me, his nostrils flaring.

A swift rigidity fell on all of them as Simon lurched one step forward into a crouch. Marceline bared her teeth, crouching in defense, a feral snarl ripping from her throat.

It was nothing like the playful sounds I'd heard from her this morning; it was the single most menacing thing I had ever heard, and chills ran from the crown of my head to the back of my heels.

"What's this?" Laurent exclaimed in open surprise. Neither Simon nor Marceline relaxed their aggressive poses. Simon feinted slightly to the side, and Marceline shifted in response.

"She's with us." Hudson's firm rebuff was directed toward Simon. Laurent seemed to catch my scent less powerfully than Simon, but awareness now dawned on his face.

"You brought a snack?" he asked, his expression incredulous as he took an involuntary step forward.

Marceline snarled even more ferociously, harshly, her lip curling high above her glistening, bared teeth. Laurent stepped back again.

"I said she's with us," Hudson corrected in a hard voice.

"But she's _human_ " Laurent protested. The words were not at all aggressive, merely astounded.

"Yes." Jake was very much in evidence at Hudson's side, his eyes on Simon. Simon slowly straightened out of his crouch, but his eyes never left me, his nostrils still wide. Marceline stayed tensed like a lion in front of me.

When Laurent spoke, his tone was soothing — trying to defuse the sudden hostility. "It appears we have a lot to learn about each other."

"Indeed." Hudson's voice was still cool.

"But we'd like to accept your invitation." His eyes flicked toward me and back to Hudson. "And, of course, we will not harm the human girl. We won't hunt in your range, as I said."

Simon glanced in disbelief and aggravation at Laurent and exchanged another brief look with Tiffany, whose eyes still flickered edgily from face to face.

Hudson measured Laurent's open expression for a moment before he spoke. "We'll show you the way. Finn, Lady, Madalyn?" he called. They gathered together, blocking me from view as they converged. Flame was instantly at my side, and Jake fell back slowly, his eyes locked on Simon as he backed toward us.

"Let's go, Bonnie." Marceline's voice was low and bleak.

This whole time I'd been rooted in place, terrified into absolute immobility. Marceline had to grip my elbow and pull sharply to break my trance. Flame and Jake were close behind us, hiding me. I stumbled alongside Marceline, still stunned with fear. I couldn't hear if the main group had left yet. Marceline's impatience was almost tangible as we moved at human speed to the forest edge.

Once we were into the trees, Marceline slung me over her back without breaking stride. I gripped as tightly as possible as she took off, the others close on her heels. I kept my head down, but my eyes, wide with fright, wouldn't close. They plunged through the now-black forest like wraiths. The sense of exhilaration that usually seemed to possess Marceline as she ran was completely absent, replaced by a fury that consumed her and drove her still faster. Even with me on her back, the others trailed behind.

We reached the Jeep in an impossibly short time, and Marceline barely slowed as she flung me in the backseat.

"Strap her in," she ordered Jake, who slid in beside me.

Flame was already in the front seat, and Marceline was starting the engine. It roared to life and we swerved backward, spinning around to face the winding road.

Marceline was growling something too fast for me to understand, but it sounded a lot like a string of profanities.

The jolting trip was much worse this time, and the darkness only made it more frightening. Jake and Flame both glared out the side windows.

We hit the main road, and though our speed increased, I could see much better where we were going. And we were headed south, away from Forks.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

No one answered. No one even looked at me.

"Dammit, Marceline! Where are you taking me?"

"We have to get you away from here — far away — now." She didn't look back, her eyes on the road. The speedometer read a hundred and five miles an hour.

"Turn around! You have to take me home!" I shouted. I struggled with the stupid harness, tearing at the straps.

"Jake," Marceline said grimly.

And Jake secured my hands in his steely grasp.

"No! Marceline! No, you can't do this."

"I have to, Bonnie, now please be quiet."

"I won't! You have to take me back — Gummy will call the FBI! They'll be all over your family —Hudson and Madalyn! They'll have to leave, to hide forever!"

"Calm down, Bonnie." Her voice was cold. "We've been there before."

"Not over me, you don't! You're not ruining everything over me!" I struggled violently, with total futility.

Flame spoke for the first time. "Marceline, pull over."

She flashed her a hard look, and then sped up.

"Marceline, let's just talk this through."

"You don't understand," she roared in frustration. I'd never heard her voice so loud; it was deafening in the confines of the Jeep. The speedometer neared one hundred and fifteen. "He's a tracker, Flame, did you _see_ that? He's a tracker!"

I felt Jake stiffen next to me, and I wondered at his reaction to the word. It meant something more to the three of them than it did to me; I wanted to understand, but there was no opening for me to ask.

"Pull over, Marceline." Flame's tone was reasonable, but there was a ring of authority in it I'd never heard before.

The speedometer inched passed one-twenty.

"Do it, Marceline."

"Listen to me, Flame. I saw his mind. Tracking is his passion, his obsession — and he wants her, Flame — _her_ , specifically. He begins the hunt tonight."

"He doesn't know where —"

She interrupted her. "How long do you think it will take him to cross her scent in town? His plan was already set before the words were out of Laurent's mouth."

I gasped, knowing where my scent would lead. "Gummy! You can't leave him there! You can't leave him!" I thrashed against the harness.

"She's right" Flame said.

The car slowed slightly.

"Let's just look at our options for a minute" Flame coaxed.

The car slowed again, more noticeably, and then suddenly we screeched to a stop on the shoulder of the highway. I flew against the harness, and then slammed back into the seat.

"There are no options," Marceline hissed.

"I'm not leaving Gummy!" I yelled.

She ignored me completely.

"We have to take her back," Jake finally spoke.

"No." Marceline was absolute.

"He's no match for us, Marceline. He won't be able to touch her."

"He'll wait."

Jake smiled. "I can wait, too."

"You didn't see — you don't understand. Once he commits to a hunt, he's unshakable. We'd have to kill him."

Jake didn't seem upset by the idea. "That's an option."

"And the female. She's with him. If it turns into a fight, the leader will go with them, too."

"There are enough of us."

"There's another option" Flame said quietly.

Marceline turned on her in fury, her voice a blistering snarl. "There — is — no — other — option!"

Jake and I both stared at her in shock, but Flame seemed unsurprised. The silence lasted for a long minute as Marceline and Flame stared each other down.

I broke it. "Does anyone want to hear my plan?"

"No," Marceline growled. Flame glared at her, finally provoked.

"Listen," I pleaded. "You take me back."

"No," she interrupted.

I glared at her and continued. "You take me back. I tell my dad I want to go home to Phoenix. I pack my bags. We wait till this tracker is watching, and then we run. He'll follow us and leave Gummy alone. Gummy won't call the FBI on your family. Then you can take me any damned place you want."

They stared at me, stunned.

"It's not a bad idea, really." Jake's surprise was definitely an insult.

"It might work — and we simply can't leave her father unprotected. You know that," Flame said.

Everyone looked at Marceline.

"It's too dangerous — I don't want him within a hundred miles of her."

Jake was supremely confident. "Marceline, he's not getting through us."

Flame thought for a minute. "I don't see him attacking. He'll try to wait for us to leave her alone."

"It won't take long for him to realize that's not going to happen."

"I _demand_ that you take me home." I tried to sound firm.

Marceline pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Please," I said in a much smaller voice.

She didn't look up. When she spoke, her voice sounded worn.

"You're leaving tonight, whether the tracker sees or not. You tell Gummy that you can't stand another minute in Forks. Tell him whatever story works. Pack the first things your hands touch, and then get in your truck. I don't care what he says to you. You have fifteen minutes. Do you hear me? Fifteen minutes from the time you cross the doorstep."

The Jeep rumbled to life, and she spun us around, the tires squealing. The needle on the speedometer started to race up the dial.

"Jake?" I asked, looking pointedly at my hands.

"Oh, sorry." He let me loose.

A few minutes passed in silence, other than the roar of the engine. Then Marceline spoke again.

"This is how it's going to happen. When we get to the house, if the tracker is not there, I will walk her to the door. Then she has fifteen minutes." She glared at me in the rearview mirror. "Jake, you take the outside of the house. Flame, you get the truck. I'll be inside as long as she is. After she's out, you two can take the Jeep home and tell Hudson."

"No way," Jake broke in. "I'm with you."

"Think it through, Jake. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Until we know how far this is going to go, I'm with you."

Marceline sighed. "If the tracker _is_ there," she continued grimly, "we keep driving."

"We're going to make it there before him" Flame said confidently.

Marceline seemed to accept that. Whatever her problem with Flame was, she didn't doubt her now.

"What are we going to do with the Jeep?" she asked.

Her voice had a hard edge. "You're driving it home."

"No, I'm not," she said calmly.

The unintelligible stream of profanities started again.

"We can't all fit in my truck," I whispered.

Marceline didn't appear to hear me.

"I think you should let me go alone," I said even more quietly.

She heard that.

"Bonnie, please just do this my way, just this once," she said between clenched teeth.

"Listen, Gummy's not an imbecile," I protested. "If you're not in town tomorrow, he's going to get suspicious."

"That's irrelevant. We'll make sure he's safe, and that's all that matters."

"Then what about this tracker? He saw the way you acted tonight. He's going to think you're with me, wherever you are."

Jake looked at me, insultingly surprised again. "Marceline, listen to her," he urged. "I think she's right."

"Yes, she is," Flame agreed.

"I can't do that." Marceline's voice was icy.

"Jake should stay, too," I continued. "He definitely got an eyeful of Jake."

"What?" Jake turned on me.

"You'll get a better crack at him if you stay" Flame agreed.

Marceline stared at her incredulously. "You think I should let her go alone?"

"Of course not" Flame said. "Finn and I will take her."

"I can't do that," Marceline repeated, but this time there was a trace of defeat in her voice. The logic was working on her.

I tried to be persuasive. "Hang out here for a week —" I saw her expression in the mirror and amended "— a few days. Let Gummy see you haven't kidnapped me, and lead this Simon on a wild-goose chase. Make sure he's completely off my trail. Then come and meet me. Take a roundabout route, of course, and then Finn and Flame can go home."

I could see her beginning to consider it.

"Meet you where?"

"Phoenix" Of course.

"No. He'll hear that's where you're going," she said impatiently.

"And you'll make it look like that's a ruse, obviously. He'll know that we'll know that he's listening. He'll never believe I'm actually going where I say I am going."

"She's diabolical," Jake chuckled.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"There are several million people in Phoenix" I informed her.

"It's not that hard to find a phone book."

"I won't go home."

"Oh?" she inquired, a dangerous note in her voice.

"I'm quite old enough to get my own place."

"Marceline, we'll be with her" Flame reminded her.

"What are _you_ going to do in _Phoenix_?" she asked her scathingly.

"Stay indoors."

"I kind of like it." Jake was thinking about cornering Simon, no doubt.

"Shut up, Jake."

"Look, if we try to take him down while she's still around, there's a much better chance that someone will _get_ hurt — she'll _get_ hurt, or you will, trying to protect her. Now, if we get him alone…" He trailed off with a slow smile. I was right.

The Jeep was crawling slowly along now as we drove into town. Despite my brave talk, I could feel the hairs on my arms standing up. I thought about Gummy, alone in the house, and tried to be courageous.

"Bonnie" Marceline's voice was very soft. Flame and Jake looked out their windows. "If you let anything happen to yourself— anything at all — I'm holding you personally responsible. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," I gulped.

She turned to Flame.

"Can Finn handle this?"

"Give him some credit, Marceline. He's been doing very, very well, all things considered."

"Can _you_ handle this?" she asked.

And graceful little Flame pulled back her lips in a horrific grimace and let loose with a guttural snarl that had me cowering against the seat in terror.

Marceline smiled at her. "But keep your opinions to yourself," she muttered suddenly.


	19. Goodbyes

19\. Goodbyes

Gummy was waiting up for me. All the house lights were on. My mind was blank as I tried to think of a way to make him let me go. This wasn't going to be pleasant.

Marceline pulled up slowly, staying well back from my truck. All three of them were acutely alert, ramrod straight in their seats, listening to every sound of the wood, looking through every shadow, catching every scent, searching for something out of place. The engine cut off, and I sat, motionless, as they continued to listen.

"He's not here," Marceline said tensely. "Let's go." Jake reached over to help me get out of the harness.

"Don't worry, Bonnie," she said in a low but cheerful voice, "we'll take care of things here quickly."

I felt moisture filling up my eyes as I looked at Jake. I barely knew him, and yet, somehow, not knowing when I would see him again after tonight was anguishing. I knew this was just a faint taste of the goodbyes I would have to survive in the next hour, and the thought made the tears begin to spill.

"Flame, Jake." Marceline's voice was a command. They slithered soundlessly into the darkness, instantly disappearing. Marceline opened my door and took my hand, then drew me into the protecting enclosure of her arm. She walked me swiftly toward the house, eyes always roving through the night.

"Fifteen minutes," she warned under her breath.

"I can do this." I sniffled. My tears had given me an inspiration.

I stopped on the porch and took hold of her face in my hands. I looked fiercely into her eyes.

"I love you," I said in a low, intense voice. "I will always love you, no matter what happens now."

"Nothing is going to happen to you, Bonnie," she said just as fiercely.

"Just follow the plan, okay? Keep Gummy safe for me. He's not going to like me very much after this, and I want to have the chance to apologize later."

"Get inside, Bonnie. We have to hurry." Her voice was urgent.

"One more thing," I whispered passionately. "Don't listen to another word I say tonight!" She was leaning in, and so all I had to do was stretch up on my toes to kiss her surprised, frozen lips with as much force as I was capable of. Then I turned and kicked the door open.

"Go away, Marceline!" I yelled at her, running inside and slamming the door shut in his still-shocked face.

"Bonnie?" Gummy had been hovering in the living room, and he was already on his feet.

"Leave me alone!" I screamed at him through my tears, which were flowing relentlessly now. I ran up the stairs to my room, throwing the door shut and locking it. I ran to my bed, flinging myself on the floor to retrieve my duffel bag. I reached swiftly between the mattress and box spring to grab the knotted old sock that contained my secret cash hoard.

Gummy was pounding on my door.

"Bonnie, are you okay? What's going on?" His voice was frightened.

"I'm going _borne_ " I shouted, my voice breaking in the perfect spot.

"Did he hurt you?" His tone edged toward anger.

"No!" I shrieked a few octaves higher. I turned to my dresser, and Marceline was already there, silently yanking out armfuls of random clothes, which she proceeded to throw to me.

"Did he break up with you?" Gummy was perplexed.

"No!" I yelled, slightly more breathless as I shoved everything into the bag. Marceline threw another drawer's contents at me. The bag was pretty much full now.

"What happened, Bonnie?" Gummy shouted through the door, pounding again.

" _I_ broke up with _him_!" I shouted back, jerking on the zipper of my bag. Marceline's capable hands pushed mine away and zipped it smoothly. She put the strap carefully over my arm.

"I'll be in the truck — go!" she whispered, and pushed me toward the door. She vanished out the window.

I unlocked the door and pushed past Gummy roughly, struggling with my heavy bag as I ran down the stairs.

"What happened?" he yelled. He was right behind me. "I thought you liked her."

He caught my elbow in the kitchen. Though he was still bewildered, his grip was firm.

He spun me around to look at him, and I could see in his face that he had no intention of letting me leave. I could think of only one way to escape, and it involved hurting him so much that I hated myself for even considering it. But I had no time, and I had to keep him safe.

I glared up at my father, fresh tears in my eyes for what I was about to do.

"I _do_ like her — that's the problem. I can't do this anymore! I can't put down any more roots here! I don't want to end up trapped in this stupid, boring town like Mom! I'm not going to make the same dumb mistake she did. I hate it — I can't stay here another minute!"

His hand dropped from my arm like I'd electrocuted him. I turned away from his shocked, wounded face and headed for the door.

"Bon, you can't leave now. It's night-time," he whispered behind me.

I didn't turn around. "I'll sleep in the truck if I get tired."

"Just wait another week," he pled, still shell-shocked. "Bubble will be back by then."

This completely derailed me. "What?"

Gummy continued eagerly, almost babbling with relief as I hesitated. "She called while you were out. Things aren't going so well in Florida, and if Gunter doesn't get signed by the end of the week, they're going back to Arizona. The assistant coach of the Sidewinders said they might have a spot for another shortstop."

I shook my head, trying to reassemble my now-confused thoughts. Every passing second put Gummy in more danger.

"I have a key," I muttered, turning the knob. He was too close, one hand extended toward me, his face dazed. I couldn't lose any more time arguing with him. I was going to have to hurt him further.

"Just let me go, Gummy." I repeated my mother's last words as she'd walked out this same door so many years ago. I said them as angrily as I could manage, and I threw the door open. "It didn't work out, okay? I really, really _hate_ Forks!"

My cruel words did their job — Gummy stayed frozen on the doorstep, stunned, while I ran into the night. I was hideously frightened of the empty yard. I ran wildly for the truck, visualizing a dark shadow behind me. I threw my bag in the bed and wrenched the door open. The key was waiting in the ignition.

"I'll call you tomorrow!" I yelled, wishing more than anything that I could explain everything to him right then, knowing I would never be able to. I gunned the engine and peeled out.

Marceline reached for my hand.

"Pull over," she said as the house, and Gummy, disappeared behind us.

"I can drive," I said through the tears pouring down my cheeks.

Her long hands unexpectedly gripped my waist, and her foot pushed mine off the gas pedal. She pulled me across her lap, wrenching my hands free of the wheel, and suddenly she was in the driver's seat. The truck didn't swerve an inch.

"You wouldn't be able to find the house," she explained.

Lights flared suddenly behind us. I stared out the back window, eyes wide with horror.

"It's just Flame" she reassured me. She took my hand again.

My mind was filled with the image of Gummy in the doorway. "The tracker?"

"He heard the end of your performance," Marceline said grimly.

"Gummy?" I asked in dread.

"The tracker followed us. He's running behind us now."

My body went cold.

"Can we outrun him?"

"No." But she sped up as she spoke. The truck's engine whined in protest.

My plan suddenly didn't feel so brilliant anymore.

I was staring back at Flame's headlights when the truck shuddered and a dark shadow sprung up outside the window.

My bloodcurdling scream lasted a fraction of a second before Marceline's hand clamped down on my mouth.

"It's Jake!"

She released my mouth, and wound her arm around my waist.

"It's okay, Bonnie," she promised. "You're going to be safe."

We raced through the quiet town toward the north highway.

"I didn't realize you were still so bored with small-town life," she said conversationally, and I knew she was trying to distract me. "It seemed like you were adjusting fairly well — especially recently. Maybe I was just flattering myself that I was making life more interesting for you."

"I wasn't being nice," I confessed, ignoring her attempt at diversion, looking down at my knees. "That was the same thing my mom said when she left him. You could say I was hitting below the belt."

"Don't worry. He'll forgive you." She smiled a little, though it didn't touch her eyes.

I stared at her desperately, and she saw the naked panic in my eyes.

"Bonnie, it's going to be all right."

"But it won't be all right when I'm not with you," I whispered.

"We'll be together again in a few days," she said, tightening her arm around me. "Don't forget that this was your idea."

"It was the best idea — of course it was mine."

Her answering smile was bleak and disappeared immediately.

"Why did this happen?" I asked, my voice catching. "Why me?"

She stared blackly at the road ahead. "It's my fault — I was a fool to expose you like that." The rage in her voice was directed internally.

"That's not what I meant," I insisted. "I was there, big deal. It didn't bother the other two. Why did this Simon decide to kill _me_ There're people all over the place, why me?"

She hesitated, thinking before she answered.

"I got a good look at his mind tonight," she began in a low voice. "I'm not sure if there's anything I could have done to avoid this, once he saw you. It _is_ partially your fault." Her voice was wry. "If you didn't smell so appallingly luscious, he might not have bothered. But when I defended you… well, that made it a lot worse. He's not used to being thwarted, no matter how insignificant the object. He thinks of himself as a hunter and nothing else. His existence is consumed with tracking, and a challenge is all he asks of life. Suddenly we've presented him with a beautiful challenge — a large clan of strong fighters all bent on protecting the one vulnerable element. You wouldn't believe how euphoric he is now. It's his favorite game, and we've just made it his most exciting game ever." Her tone was full of disgust.

She paused a moment.

"But if I had stood by, he would have killed you right then," she said with hopeless frustration.

"I thought… I didn't smell the same to the others… as I do to you," I said hesitantly.

"You don't. But that doesn't mean that you aren't still a temptation to every one of them. If you _had_ appealed to the tracker — or any of them — the same way you appeal to me, it would have meant a fight right there."

I shuddered.

"I don't think I have any choice but to kill him now," she muttered. "Hudson won't like it."

I could hear the tires cross the bridge, though I couldn't see the river in the dark. I knew we were getting close. I had to ask her now.

"How can you kill a vampire?"

She glanced at me with unreadable eyes and her voice was suddenly harsh. "The only way to be sure is to tear him to shreds, and then burn the pieces."

"And the other two will fight with him?"

"The woman will. I'm not sure about Laurent. They don't have a very strong bond — he's only with them for convenience. He was embarrassed by Simon in the meadow…"

"But Simon and the woman — they'll try to kill you?" I asked, my voice raw.

"Bonnie, don't you _dare_ waste time worrying about me. Your only concern is keeping yourself safe and — please, please — _trying_ not to be reckless."

"Is he still following?"

"Yes. He won't attack the house, though. Not tonight."

She turned off onto the invisible drive, with Flame following behind.

We drove right up to the house. The lights inside were bright, but they did little to alleviate the blackness of the encroaching forest. Jake had my door open before the truck was stopped; she pulled me out of the seat, tucked me like a football into her arms, and ran me through the door.

We burst into the large white room, Marceline and Flame at our sides. All of them were there; they were already on their feet at the sound of our approach. Laurent stood in their midst. I could hear low growls rumble deep in Jake's throat as he sat me down next to Marceline.

"He's tracking us," Marceline announced, glaring balefully at Laurent.

Laurent's face was unhappy. "I was afraid of that."

Flame danced to Finn's side and whispered in his ear; her lips quivered with the speed of her silent speech. They flew up the stairs together. Lady watched them, and then moved quickly to Jake's side. Her beautiful eyes were intense and — when they flickered unwillingly to my face — furious.

"What will he do?" Hudson asked Laurent in chilling tones.

"I'm sorry," he answered. "I was afraid, when your boy there defended her that it would set him off."

"Can you stop him?"

Laurent shook his head. "Nothing stops Simon when he gets started."

"We'll stop him," Jake promised. There was no doubt what he meant.

"You can't bring him down. I've never seen anything like him in my three hundred years. He's absolutely lethal. That's why I joined his coven."

 _His_ coven, I thought, of course. The show of leadership in the clearing was merely that, a show.

Laurent was shaking his head. He glanced at me, perplexed, and back to Hudson. "Are you sure it's worth it?"

Marceline's enraged roar filled the room; Laurent cringed back.

Hudson looked gravely at Laurent. "I'm afraid you're going to have to make a choice."

Laurent understood. He deliberated for a moment. His eyes took in every face, and finally swept the bright room.

"I'm intrigued by the life you've created here. But I won't get in the middle of this. I bear none of you any enmity, but I won't go up against Simon. I think I will head north — to that clan in Denali." He hesitated. "Don't underestimate Simon. He's got a brilliant mind and unparalleled senses. He's every bit as comfortable in the human world as you seem to be, and he won't come at you head on… I'm sorry for what's been unleashed here. Truly sorry." He bowed his head, but I saw him flicker another puzzled look at me.

"Go in peace," was Hudson's formal answer.

Laurent took another long look around himself, and then he hurried out the door. The silence lasted less than a second.

"How close?" Hudson looked to Marceline.

Madalyn was already moving; her hand touched an inconspicuous keypad on the wall, and with a groan, huge metal shutters began sealing up the glass wall. I gaped.

"About three miles out past the river; he's circling around to meet up with the female."

"What's the plan?"

"We'll lead him off, and then Finn and Flame will run her south."

"And then?"

Marceline's tone was deadly. "As soon as Bonnie is clear, we hunt him."

"I guess there's no other choice" Hudson agreed, his face grim. Marceline turned to Lady.

"Get her upstairs and trade clothes," Marceline commanded. She stared back at her with livid disbelief.

"Why should I?" she hissed. "What is she to me? Except a menace — a danger you've chosen to inflict on all of us."

I flinched back from the venom in her voice.

"Lady…" Jake murmured, putting one hand on her shoulder. She shook it off.

But I was watching Marceline carefully, knowing her temper, worried about her reaction.

She surprised me. She looked away from Lady as if she hadn't spoken, as if she didn't exist. "Madalyn?" she asked calmly.

"Of course" Madalyn murmured.

Madalyn was at my side in half a heartbeat, swinging me up easily into her arms, and dashing up the stairs before I could gasp in shock.

"What are we doing?" I asked breathlessly as she sat me down in a dark room somewhere off the second-story hall.

"Trying to confuse the smell. It won't work for long, but it might help get you out." I could hear her clothes falling to the floor.

"I don't think I'll fit…" I hesitated, but her hands were abruptly pulling my shirt over my head. I quickly stripped my jeans off myself. She handed me something, it felt like a shirt. I struggled to get my arms through the right holes. As soon as I was done she handed me her slacks. I yanked them on, but I couldn't get my feet out; they were too long. She deftly rolled the hems a few times so I could stand. Somehow she was already in my clothes. She pulled me back to the stairs, where Flame stood, a small leather bag in one hand. They each grabbed one of my elbows and half-carried me as they flew down the stairs.

It appeared that everything had been settled downstairs in our absence. Marceline and Jake were ready to leave, Jake carrying a heavy-looking backpack over his shoulder. Hudson was handing something small to Madalyn. She turned and handed Flame the same thing — it was a tiny silver cell phone.

"Madalyn and Lady will be taking your truck, Bonnie," he told me as he passed. I nodded, glancing warily at Lady. She was glowering at Hudson with a resentful expression.

"Flame, Finn —take the Mercedes. You'll need the dark tint in the south."

They nodded as well.

"We're taking the Jeep."

I was surprised to see that Hudson intended to go with Marceline. I realized suddenly, with a stab of fear that they made up the hunting party.

"Flame" Hudson asked, "Will they take the bait?"

Everyone watched Flame as she closed her eyes and became incredibly still.

Finally her eyes opened. "He'll track you. The woman will follow the truck. We should be able to leave after that." Her voice was certain.

"Let's go." Hudson began to walk toward the kitchen.

But Marceline was at my side at once. She caught me up in her iron grip, crushing me to her. She seemed unaware of her watching family as she pulled my face to her, lifting my feet off the floor. For the shortest second, her lips were icy and hard against mine. Then it was over. She set me down, still holding my face, her glorious eyes burning into mine. Her eyes went blank, curiously dead, as she turned away.

And they were gone.

We stood there, the others looking away from me as the tears streaked noiselessly down my face.

The silent moment dragged on, and then Madalyn's phone vibrated in her hand. It flashed to her ear.

"Now," she said. Lady stalked out the front door without another glance in my direction, but Madalyn touched my cheek as she passed.

"Be safe." Her whisper lingered behind them as they slipped out the door. I heard my truck start thunderously, and then fade away.

Finn and Flame waited. Flame's phone seemed to be at her ear before it buzzed.

"Marceline says the woman is on Madalyn's trail. I'll get the car." She vanished into the shadows the way Marceline had gone.

Finn and I looked at each other. He stood across the length of the entryway from me… being careful.

"You're wrong, you know," he said quietly.

"What?" I gasped.

"I can feel what you're feeling now — and you _are_ worth it."

"I'm not," I mumbled. "If anything happens to them, it will be for nothing."

"You're wrong," he repeated, smiling kindly at me.

I heard nothing, but then Flame stepped through the front door and came toward me with her arms held out.

"May I?" she asked.

"You're the first one to ask permission." I smiled wryly.

She lifted me in her slender arms as easily as Jake had, shielding me protectively, and then we flew out the door, leaving the lights bright behind us.


	20. Impatience

20\. Impatience

When I woke up I was confused. My thoughts were hazy, still twisted up in dreams and nightmares; it took me longer than it should have to realize where I was.

This room was too bland to belong anywhere but in a hotel. The bedside lamps, bolted to the tables, were a dead giveaway, as were the long drapes made from the same fabric as the bedspread, and the generic watercolor prints on the walls.

I tried to remember how I got here, but nothing came at first.

I did remember the sleek black car, the glass in the windows darker than that on a limousine. The engine was almost silent, though we'd raced across the black freeways at more than twice the legal speed.

And I remembered Flame sitting with me on the dark leather backseat. Somehow, during the long night, my head had ended up against her granite neck. My closeness didn't seem to bother her at all, and her cool, hard skin was oddly comforting to me. The front of her thin cotton shirt was cold, damp with the tears that streamed from my eyes until, red and sore, they ran dry.

Sleep had evaded me; my aching eyes strained open even though the night finally ended and dawn broke over a low peak somewhere in California. The gray light, streaking across the cloudless sky, stung my eyes. But I couldn't close them; when I did, the images that flashed all too vividly, like still slides behind my lids, were unbearable. Gummy's broken expression — Marceline's brutal snarl, teeth bared — Lady's resentful glare — the keen-eyed scrutiny of the tracker — the dead look in Marceline's eyes after she kissed me the last time… I couldn't stand to see them. So I fought against my weariness and the sun rose higher.

I was still awake when we came through a shallow mountain pass and the sun, behind us now, reflected off the tiled rooftops of the Valley of the Sun. I didn't have enough emotion left to be surprised that we'd made a three-day journey in one. I stared blankly at the wide, flat expanse laid out in front of me.

Phoenix — the palm trees, the scrubby creosote, the haphazard lines of the intersecting freeways, the green swaths of golf courses and turquoise splotches of swimming pools, all submerged in a thin smog and embraced by the short, rocky ridges that weren't really big enough to be called mountains.

The shadows of the palm trees slanted across the freeway — defined, sharper than I remembered, paler than they should be. Nothing could hide in these shadows. The bright, open freeway seemed benign enough. But I felt no relief, no sense of homecoming.

"Which way to the airport, Bonnie?" Finn had asked, and I flinched, though his voice was quite soft and un-alarming. It was the first sound, besides the purr of the car, to break the long night's silence.

"Stay on the I-ten," I'd answered automatically. "We'll pass right by it."

My brain had worked slowly through the fog of sleep deprivation.

"Are we flying somewhere?" I'd asked Flame.

"No, but it's better to be close, just in case."

I remembered beginning the loop around Sky Harbor International… but not ending it. I suppose that must have been when I'd fallen asleep.

Though, now that I'd chased the memories down, I did have a vague impression of leaving the car — the sun was just falling behind the horizon — my arm draped over Flame's shoulder and her arm firm around my waist, dragging me along as I stumbled through the warm, dry shadows.

I had no memory of this room.

I looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. The red numbers claimed it was three o'clock, but they gave no indication if it was night or day. No edge of light escaped the thick curtains, but the room was bright with the light from the lamps.

I rose stiffly and staggered to the window, pulling back the drapes.

It was dark outside. Three in the morning, then. My room looked out on a deserted section of the freeway and the new long-term parking garage for the airport. It was slightly comforting to be able to pinpoint time and place.

I looked down at myself. I was still wearing Madalyn's clothes, and they didn't fit very well at all. I looked around the room, glad when I discovered my duffel bag on top of the low dresser.

I was on my way to find new clothes when a light tap on the door made me jump.

"Can I come in?" Flame asked.

I took a deep breath. "Sure."

She walked in, and looked me over cautiously. "You look like you could sleep longer," she said.

I just shook my head.

She drifted silently to the curtains and closed them securely before turning back to me.

"We'll need to stay inside," she told me.

"Okay." My voice was hoarse; it cracked.

"Thirsty?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I'm okay. How about you?"

"Nothing unmanageable." She smiled. "I ordered some food for you, it's in the front room. Marceline reminded me that you have to eat a lot more frequently than we do."

I was instantly more alert. "She called?"

"No," she said, and watched as my face fell. "It was before we left."

She took my hand carefully and led me through the door into the living room of the hotel suite. I could hear a low buzz of voices coming from the TV. Finn sat motionlessly at the desk in the corner, his eyes watching the news with no glimmer of interest.

I sat on the floor next to the coffee table, where a tray of food waited, and began picking at it without noticing what I was eating.

Flame perched on the arm of the sofa and stared blankly at the TV like Finn.

I ate slowly, watching her, turning now and then to glance quickly at Finn. It began to dawn on me that they were too still. They never looked away from the screen, though commercials were playing now. I pushed the tray away, my stomach abruptly uneasy. Flame looked down at me.

"What's wrong, Flame?" I asked.

"Nothing's wrong." Her eyes were wide, honest… and I didn't trust them.

"What do we do now?"

"We wait for Hudson to call."

"And should he have called by now?" I could see that I was near the mark. Flame's eyes flitted from mine to the phone on top of her leather bag and back.

"What does that mean?" My voice quavered, and I fought to control it. "That he hasn't called yet?"

"It just means that they don't have anything to tell us."

But her voice was too even, and the air was harder to breathe.

Finn was suddenly beside Flame, closer to me than usual.

"Bonnie," he said in a suspiciously soothing voice. "You have nothing to worry about. You are completely safe here."

"I know that."

"Then why are you frightened?" he asked, confused. He might feel the tenor of my emotions, but he couldn't read the reasons behind them.

"You heard what Laurent said." My voice was just a whisper, but I was sure they could hear me. "He said Simon was lethal. What if something goes wrong, and they get separated? If something happens to any of them, Hudson, Jake… Marceline…" I gulped. "If that wild female hurts Madalyn …" My voice had grown higher, a note of hysteria beginning to rise in it. "How could I live with myself when it's my fault? None of you should be risking yourselves for me —"

"Bonnie, Bonnie, stop," he interrupted me, his words pouring out so quickly they were hard to understand. "You're worrying about all the wrong things, Bonnie. Trust me on this — none of us are in jeopardy. You are under too much strain as it is; don't add to it with wholly unnecessary worries. Listen to me!" he ordered, for I had looked away. "Our family is strong. Our only fear is losing you."

"But why should you —"

Flame interrupted this time, touching my cheek with her cold fingers. "It's been almost a century that Marceline's been alone. Now he's found you. You can't see the changes that we see, we who have been with him for so long. Do you think any of us want to look into his eyes for the next hundred years if he loses you?"

My guilt slowly subsided as I looked into her dark eyes. But, even as the calm spread over me, I knew I couldn't trust my feelings with Finn there.

It was a very long day.

We stayed in the room. Flame called down to the front desk and asked them to ignore our maid service for now. The windows stayed shut, the TV on, though no one watched it. At regular intervals, food was delivered for me. The silver phone resting on Flame's bag seemed to grow bigger as the hours passed.

My babysitters handled the suspense better than I did. As I fidgeted and paced, they simply grew more still, two statues whose eyes followed me imperceptibly as I moved. I occupied myself with memorizing the room; the striped pattern of the couches, tan, peach, cream, dull gold, and tan again. Sometimes I stared at the abstract prints, randomly finding pictures in the shapes, like I'd found pictures in the clouds as a child. I traced a blue hand, a woman combing her hair, a cat stretching. But when the pale red circle became a staring eye, I looked away.

As the afternoon wore on, I went back to bed, simply for something to do. I hoped that by myself in the dark, I could give in to the terrible fears that hovered on the edge of my consciousness, unable to break through under Finn's careful supervision.

But Flame followed me casually, as if by some coincidence she had grown tired of the front room at the same time. I was beginning to wonder exactly what sort of instructions Marceline had given her. I lay across the bed, and she sat, legs folded, next to me. I ignored her at first, suddenly tired enough to sleep. But after a few minutes, the panic that had held off in Finn's presence began to make itself known. I gave up on the idea of sleep quickly then, curling up into a small ball, wrapping my arms around my legs.

"Flame?" I asked.

"Yes?"

I kept my voice very calm. "What do you think they're doing?"

"Hudson wanted to lead the tracker as far north as possible, wait for him to get close, and then turn and ambush him. Madalyn and Lady were supposed to head west as long as they could keep the female behind them. If she turned around, they were to head back to Forks and keep an eye on your dad. So I imagine things are going well if they can't call. It means the tracker is close enough that they don't want him to overhear."

"And Madalyn?"

"I think she must be back in Forks. She won't call if there's any chance the female will overhear. I expect they're all just being very careful."

"Do you think they're safe, really?"

"Bonnie, how many times do we have to tell you that there's no danger to us?"

"Would you tell me the truth, though?"

"Yes. I will always tell you the truth." Her voice was earnest.

I deliberated for a moment, and decided she meant it.

"Tell me then… how do you become a vampire?"

My question caught her off guard. She was quiet. I rolled over to look at her, and her expression seemed ambivalent.

"Marceline doesn't want me to tell you that," she said firmly, but I sensed she didn't agree.

"That's not fair. I think I have a right to know."

"I know."

I looked at her, waiting.

She sighed. "She'll be _extremely_ angry."

"It's none of her business. This is between you and me. Flame, as a friend, I'm begging you." And we were friends now, somehow — as she must have known we would be all along.

She looked at me with her splendid, wise eyes… choosing.

"I'll tell you the mechanics of it," she said finally, "but I don't remember it myself, and I've never done it or seen it done, so keep in mind that I can only tell you the theory."

I waited.

"As predators, we have a glut of weapons in our physical arsenal — much, much more than really necessary. The strength, the speed, the acute senses, not to mention those of us like Marceline, Finn, and I, who have extra senses as well. And then, like a carnivorous flower, we are physically attractive to our prey."

I was very still, remembering how pointedly Marceline had demonstrated the same concept for me in the meadow.

She smiled a wide, ominous smile. "We have another fairly superfluous weapon. We're also venomous," she said, her teeth glistening. "The venom doesn't kill — it's merely incapacitating. It works slowly, spreading through the bloodstream, so that, once bitten, our prey is in too much physical pain to escape us. Mostly superfluous, as I said. If we're that close, the prey doesn't escape. Of course, there are always exceptions. Hudson, for example."

"So… if the venom is left to spread…" I murmured.

"It takes a few days for the transformation to be complete, depending on how much venom is in the bloodstream, how close the venom enters to the heart. As long as the heart keeps beating, the poison spreads, healing, changing the body as it moves through it. Eventually the heart stops, and the conversion is finished. But all that time, every minute of it, a victim would be wishing for death."

I shivered.

"It's not pleasant, you see."

"Marceline said that it was very hard to do… I don't quite understand," I said.

"We're also like sharks in a way. Once we taste the blood, or even smell it for that matter, it becomes very hard to keep from feeding. Sometimes impossible. So you see, to actually bite someone, to taste the blood, it would begin the frenzy. It's difficult on both sides — the blood-lust on the one hand, the awful pain on the other."

"Why do you think you don't remember?"

"I don't know. For everyone else, the pain of transformation is the sharpest memory they have of their human life. I remember nothing of being human." Her voice was wistful.

We lay silently, wrapped in our individual meditations.

The seconds ticked by, and I had almost forgotten her presence, I was so enveloped in my thoughts.

Then, without any warning, Flame leaped from the bed, landing lightly on her feet. My head jerked up as I stared at her, startled.

"Something's changed." Her voice was urgent, and she wasn't talking to me anymore.

She reached the door at the same time Finn did. He had obviously heard our conversation and her sudden exclamation. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to the bed, sitting her on the edge.

"What do you see?" he asked intently, staring into her eyes. Her eyes were focused on something very far away. I sat close to her, leaning in to catch her low, quick voice.

"I see a room. It's long, and there are mirrors everywhere. The floor is wooden. He's in the room, and he's waiting. There's gold… a gold stripe across the mirrors."

"Where is the room?"

"I don't know. Something is missing — another decision hasn't been made yet."

"How much time?"

"It's soon. He'll be in the mirror room today, or maybe tomorrow. It all depends. He's waiting for something. And he's in the dark now."

Finn's voice was calm, methodical, as he questioned her in a practiced way. "What is he doing?"

"He's watching TV… no, he's running a VCR, in the dark, in another place."

"Can you see where he is?"

"No, it's too dark."

"And the mirror room, what else is there?"

"Just the mirrors, and the gold. It's a band, around the room. And there's a black table with a big stereo, and a TV. He's touching the VCR there, but he doesn't watch the way he does in the dark room. This is the room where he waits." Her eyes drifted, then focused on Finn's face.

"There's nothing else?"

She shook her head. They looked at each other, motionless.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

Neither of them answered for a moment, then Finn looked at me.

"It means the tracker's plans have changed. He's made a decision that will lead him to the mirror room, and the dark room."

"But we don't know where those rooms are?"

"No."

"But we do know that he won't be in the mountains north of Washington, being hunted. He'll elude them." Flame's voice was bleak.

"Should we call?" I asked. They traded a serious look, undecided.

And the phone rang.

Flame was across the room before I could lift my head to look at it.

She pushed a button and held the phone to her ear, but she didn't speak first.

"Hudson," she breathed. She didn't seem surprised or relieved, the way I felt.

"Yes," she said, glancing at me. She listened for a long moment.

"I just saw him." She described again the vision she'd seen. "Whatever made him get on that plane… it was leading him to those rooms." She paused. "Yes" Flame said into the phone, and then she spoke to me. "Bonnie?"

She held the phone out toward me. I ran to it.

"Hello?" I breathed.

"Bonnie," Marceline said.

"Oh, Marceline! I was so worried."

"Bonnie," she sighed in frustration, "I told you not to worry about anything but yourself." It was so unbelievably good to hear her voice. I felt the hovering cloud of despair lighten and drift back as she spoke.

"Where are you?"

"We're outside of Vancouver. Bonnie, I'm sorry — we lost him. He seems suspicious of us — he's careful to stay just far enough away that I can't hear what he's thinking. But he's gone now — it looks like he got on a plane. We think he's heading back to Forks to start over." I could hear Flame filling in Finn behind me, her quick words blurring together into a humming noise.

"I know. Flame saw that he got away."

"You don't have to worry, though. He won't find anything to lead him to you. You just have to stay there and wait till we find him again."

"I'll be fine. Is Madalyn with Gummy?"

"Yes — the female has been in town. She went to the house, but while Gummy was at work. She hasn't gone near him, so don't be afraid. He's safe with Madalyn and Lady watching."

"What is she doing?"

"Probably trying to pick up the trail. She's been all through the town during the night. Lady traced her through the airport, all the roads around town, the school… she's digging, Bonnie, but there's nothing to find."

"And you're sure Gummy's safe?"

"Yes, Madalyn won't let him out of her sight. And we'll be there soon. If the tracker gets anywhere near Forks, we'll have him."

"I miss you," I whispered.

"I know, Bonnie. Believe me, I know. It's like you've taken half myself away with you."

"Come and get it, then," I challenged.

"Soon, as soon as I possibly can. I _will_ make you safe first." Her voice was hard.

"I love you," I reminded her.

"Could you believe that, despite everything I've put you through, I love you, too?"

"Yes, I can, actually."

"I'll come for you soon."

"I'll be waiting."

As soon as the phone went dead, the cloud of depression began to creep over me again.

I turned to give the phone back to Flame and found her and Finn bent over the table, where Flame was sketching on a piece of hotel stationery. I leaned on the back of the couch, looking over her shoulder.

She drew a room: long, rectangular, with a thinner, square section at the back. The wooden planks that made up the floor stretched lengthwise across the room. Down the walls were lines denoting the breaks in the mirrors. And then, wrapping around the walls, waist high, a long band. The band Flame said was gold.

"It's a ballet studio," I said, suddenly recognizing the familiar shapes.

They looked at me, surprised.

"Do you know this room?" Finn's voice sounded calm, but there was an undercurrent of something I couldn't identify. Flame bent her head to her work, her hand flying across the page now, the shape of an emergency exit taking shape against the back wall, the stereo and TV on a low table by the front right corner.

"It looks like a place I used to go for dance lessons — when I was eight or nine. It was shaped just the same." I touched the page where the square section jutted out, narrowing the back part of the room. "That's where the bathrooms were — the doors were through the other dance floor. But the stereo was here" — I pointed to the left corner — "it was older, and there wasn't a TV. There was a window in the waiting room — you would see the room from this perspective if you looked through it."

Flame and Finn were staring at me.

"Are you sure it's the same room?" Finn asked, still calm.

"No, not at all — I suppose most dance studios would look the same — the mirrors, the bar." I traced my finger along the ballet bar set against the mirrors. "It's just the shape that looked familiar." I touched the door, set in exactly the same place as the one I remembered.

"Would you have any reason to go there now?" Flame asked, breaking my reverie.

"No, I haven't been there in almost ten years. I was a terrible dancer — they always put me in the back for recitals," I admitted.

"So there's no way it could be connected with you?" Flame asked intently.

"No, I don't even think the same person owns it. I'm sure it's just another dance studio, somewhere."

"Where was the studio you went to?" Finn asked in a casual voice.

"It was just around the corner from my mom's house. I used to walk there after school…" I said, my voice trailing off. I didn't miss the look they exchanged.

"Here in Phoenix, then?" His voice was still casual.

"Yes," I whispered. "Fifty-Eighth Street and Cactus."

We all sat in silence, staring at the drawing.

"Flame, is that phone safe?"

"Yes," she reassured me. "The number would just trace back to Washington."

"Then I can use it to call my mom."

"I thought she was in Florida."

"She is — but she's coming home soon, and she can't come back to that house while…" My voice trembled. I was thinking about something Marceline had said, about the red-haired female at Gummy's house, at the school, where my records would be.

"How will you reach her?"

"They don't have a permanent number except at the house — she's supposed to check her messages regularly."

"Finn?" Flame asked.

He thought about it. "I don't think there's any way it could hurt — be sure you don't say where you are, of course."

I reached eagerly for the phone and dialed the familiar number. It rang four times, and then I heard my mom's breezy voice telling me to leave a message.

"Mom," I said after the beep, "it's me. Listen, I need you to do something. It's important. As soon as you get this message, call me at this number." Flame was already at my side, writing the number for me on the bottom of her picture. I read it carefully, twice. "Please don't go anywhere until you talk to me. Don't worry, I'm okay, but I have to talk to you right away, no matter how late you get this call, all right? I love you, Mom. Bye." I closed my eyes and prayed with all my might that no unforeseen change of plans would bring her home before she got my message.

I settled into the sofa, nibbling on a plate of leftover fruit, anticipating a long evening. I thought about calling Gummy, but I wasn't sure if I should be home by now or not. I concentrated on the news, watching out for stories about Florida, or about spring training — strikes or hurricanes or terrorist attacks — anything that might send them home early.

Immortality must grant endless patience. Neither Finn nor Flame seemed to feel the need to do anything at all. For a while, Flame sketched the vague outline of the dark room from her vision, as much as she could see in the light from the TV. But when she was done, she simply sat, looking at the blank walls with her timeless eyes. Finn, too, seemed to have no urge to pace, or peek through the curtains, or run screaming out the door, the way I did.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring again. The touch of Flame's cold hands woke me briefly as she carried me to the bed, but I was unconscious again before my head hit the pillow.


	21. Phone Call

21\. Phone Call

I could feel it was too early again when I woke, and I knew I was getting the schedule of my days and nights slowly reversed. I lay in my bed and listened to the quiet voices of Flame and Finn in the other room. That they were loud enough for me to hear at all was strange. I rolled till my feet touched the floor and then staggered to the living room.

The clock on the TV said it was just after two in the morning. Flame and Finn were sitting together on the sofa, Flame sketching again while Finn looked over her shoulder. They didn't look up when I entered, too engrossed in Flame 's work.

I crept to Finn's side to peek.

"Did she see something more?" I asked him quietly.

"Yes. Something's brought him back to the room with the VCR, but it's light now."

I watched as Flame drew a square room with dark beams across its low ceiling. The walls were paneled in wood, a little too dark, out of date. The floor had a dark carpet with a pattern in it. There was a large window against the south wall, and an opening through the west wall led to the living room. One side of that entrance was stone — a large tan stone fireplace that was open to both rooms. The focus of the room from this perspective, the TV and VCR, balanced on a too-small wooden stand, were in the southwest corner of the room. An aged sectional sofa curved around in front of the TV, a round coffee table in front of it.

"The phone goes there," I whispered, pointing.

Two pairs of eternal eyes stared at me.

"That's my mother's house."

Flame was already off the couch, phone in hand, dialing. I stared at the precise rendering of my mother's family room. Uncharacteristically, Finn slid closer to me. He lightly touched his hand to my shoulder, and the physical contact seemed to make his calming influence stronger. The panic stayed dull, unfocused.

Flame's lips were trembling with the speed of her words, the low buzzing impossible to decipher. I couldn't concentrate.

"Bonnie" Flame said. I looked at her numbly.

"Bonnie, Marceline is coming to get you. She and Jake and Hudson are going to take you somewhere, to hide you for a while."

"Marceline is coming?" The words were like a life vest, holding my head above the flood.

"Yes, she's catching the first flight out of Seattle. We'll meet her at the airport, and you'll leave with her."

"But, my mother… he came here for my mother, Flame!" Despite Finn, the hysteria bubbled up in my voice.

"Finn and I will stay till she's safe."

"I can't win, Flame. You can't guard everyone I know forever. Don't you see what he's doing? He's not tracking me at all. He'll find someone, he'll hurt someone I love…Flame, I can't —"

"We'll catch him, Bonnie," she assured me.

"And what if you get hurt, Flame? Do you think that's okay with me? Do you think it's only my human family he can hurt me with?"

Flame looked meaningfully at Finn. A deep, heavy fog of lethargy washed over me, and my eyes closed without my permission. My mind struggled against the fog, realizing what was happening. I forced my eyes open and stood up, stepping away from Finn's hand.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," I snapped.

I walked to my room and shut the door, slammed it really, so I could be free to go to pieces privately. This time Flame didn't follow me. For three and a half hours I stared at the wall, curled in a ball, rocking. My mind went around in circles, trying to come up with some way out of this nightmare. There was no escape, no reprieve. I could see only one possible end looming darkly in my future. The only question was how many other people would be hurt before I reached it.

The only solace, the only hope I had left, was knowing that I would see Marceline soon. Maybe, if I could just see her face again, I would also be able to see the solution that eluded me now.

When the phone rang, I returned to the front room, a little ashamed of my behavior. I hoped I hadn't offended either of them that they would know how grateful I was for the sacrifices they were making on my account.

Flame was talking as rapidly as ever, but what caught my attention was that, for the first time, Finn was not in the room. I looked at the clock — it was five-thirty in the morning.

"They're just boarding their plane" Flame told me. "They'll land at nine-forty-five." Just a few more hours to keep breathing till she was here.

"Where's Finn?"

"He went to check out."

"You aren't staying here?"

"No, we're relocating closer to your mother's house."

My stomach twisted uneasily at her words.

But the phone rang again, distracting me. She looked surprised, but I was already walking forward, reaching hopefully for the phone.

"Hello?" Flame asked. "No, she's right here." She held the phone out to me. Your mother, she mouthed.

"Hello?"

"Bonnie? Bonnie?" It was my mother's voice, in a familiar tone I had heard a thousand times in my childhood, anytime I'd gotten too close to the edge of the sidewalk or strayed out of her sight in a crowded place. It was the sound of panic.

I sighed. I'd been expecting this, though I'd tried to make my message as unalarming as possible without lessening the urgency of it.

"Calm down, Mom," I said in my most soothing voice, walking slowly away from Flame. I wasn't sure if I could lie as convincingly with her eyes on me. "Everything is fine, okay? Just give me a minute and I'll explain everything, I promise."

I paused, surprised that she hadn't interrupted me yet.

"Mom?"

"Be very careful not to say anything until I tell you to." The voice I heard now was as unfamiliar as it was unexpected. It was a man's tenor voice, a very pleasant, generic voice — the kind of voice that you heard in the background of luxury car commercials. He spoke very quickly.

"Now, I don't need to hurt your mother, so please do exactly as I say, and she'll be fine." He paused for a minute while I listened in mute horror. "That's very good," he congratulated. "Now repeat after me, and do try to sound natural. Please say, 'No, Mom, stay where you are.'"

"No, Mom, stay where you are." My voice was barely more than a whisper.

"I can see this is going to be difficult." The voice was amused, still light and friendly. "Why don't you walk into another room now so your face doesn't ruin everything? There's no reason for your mother to suffer. As you're walking, please say, 'Mom, please listen to me.' Say it now."

"Mom, please listen to me," my voice pleaded. I walked very slowly to the bedroom, feeling Flame's worried stare on my back. I shut the door behind me, trying to think clearly through the terror that gripped my brain.

"There now, are you alone? Just answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"But they can still hear you, I'm sure."

"Yes."

"All right, then," the agreeable voice continued, "say, 'Mom, trust me.'"

"Mom, trust me."

"This worked out rather better than I expected. I was prepared to wait, but your mother arrived ahead of schedule. It's easier this way, isn't it? Less suspense, less anxiety for you."

I waited.

"Now I want you to listen very carefully. I'm going to need you to get away from your friends; do you think you can do that? Answer yes or no."

"No."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping you would be a little more creative than that. Do you think you could get away from them if your mother's life depended on it? Answer yes or no."

Somehow, there had to be a way. I remembered that we were going to the airport. Sky Harbor International Airport: crowded, confusingly laid out…

"Yes."

"That's better. I'm sure it won't be easy, but if I get the slightest hint that you have any company, well, that would be very bad for your mother," the friendly voice promised. "You must know enough about us by now to realize how quickly I would know if you tried to bring anyone along with you. And how little time I would need to deal with your mother if that was the case. Do you understand? Answer yes or no."

"Yes." My voice broke.

"Very good, Bonnie. Now this is what you have to do. I want you to go to your mother's house. Next to the phone there will be a number. Call it, and I'll tell you where to go from there." I already knew where I would go, and where this would end. But I would follow his instructions exactly. "Can you do that? Answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"Before noon, please, Bonnie. I haven't got all day," he said politely.

"Where's Gunter?" I asked tersely.

"Ah, be careful now, Bonnie. Wait until I ask you to speak, please."

I waited.

"It's important, now, that you don't make your friends suspicious when you go back to them. Tell them that your mother called, and that you talked her out of coming home for the time being. Now repeat after me, 'Thank you, Mom.' Say it now."

"Thank you, Mom." The tears were coming. I tried to fight them back.

"Say, 'I love you, Mom, I'll see you soon.' Say it now."

"I love you, Mom." My voice was thick. "I'll see you soon," I promised.

"Goodbye, Bonnie. I look forward to seeing you again." He hung up.

I held the phone to my ear. My joints were frozen with terror — I couldn't unbend my fingers to drop it.

I knew I had to think, but my head was filled with the sound of my mother's panic. Seconds ticked by while I fought for control.

Slowly, slowly, my thoughts started to break past that brick wall of pain. To plan. For I had no choices now but one: to go to the mirrored room and die. I had no guarantees, nothing to give to keep my mother alive. I could only hope that Simon would be satisfied with winning the game, that beating Marceline would be enough. Despair gripped me; there was no way to bargain, nothing I could offer or withhold that could influence him. But I still had no choice. I had to try.

I pushed the terror back as well as I could. My decision was made. It did no good to waste time agonizing over the outcome. I had to think clearly, because Flame and Finn were waiting for me, and evading them was absolutely essential, and absolutely impossible.

I was suddenly grateful that Finn was gone. If he had been here to feel my anguish in the last five minutes, how could I have kept them from being suspicious? I choked back the dread, the anxiety, tried to stifle it. I couldn't afford it now. I didn't know when he would return.

I concentrated on my escape. I had to hope that my familiarity with the airport would turn the odds in my favor. Somehow, I had to keep Flame away…

I knew Flame was in the other room waiting for me, curious. But I had to deal with one more thing in private, before Finn was back.

I had to accept that I wouldn't see Marceline again, not even one last glimpse of her face to carry with me to the mirror room. I was going to hurt her, and I couldn't say goodbye. I let the waves of torture wash over me, have their way for a time. Then I pushed them back, too, and went to face Flame.

The only expression I could manage was a dull, dead look. I saw her alarm and I didn't wait for her to ask. I had just one script and I'd never manage improvisation now.

"My mom was worried, she wanted to come home. But it's okay, I convinced her to stay away." My voice was lifeless.

"We'll make sure she's fine, Bonnie, don't worry." I turned away; I couldn't let her see my face.

My eye fell on a blank page of the hotel stationery on the desk. I went to it slowly, a plan forming. There was an envelope there, too. That was good.

"Flame," I asked slowly, without turning, keeping my voice level. "If I write a letter for my mother, would you give it to her? Leave it at the house, I mean."

"Sure, Bonnie." Her voice was careful. She could see me coming apart at the seams. I _had_ to keep my emotions under better control.

I went into the bedroom again, and knelt next to the little bedside table to write.

" _Marceline_ ," I wrote. My hand was shaking, the letters were hardly legible.

 _I love you. I am so sorry. He has my mom, and I have to try. I know it may not work. I am so very, very sorry._

 _Don't be angry with Flame and Finn. If I get away from them it will be a miracle. Tell them thank you for me._ _Flame especially, please._

 _And please, please, don't come after him. That's what he wants. I think. I can't bear it if anyone has to be hurt because of me, especially you. Please, this is the only thing I can ask you now._ _For_ _me._

 _I love you. Forgive me._

 _Bonnie_

I folded the letter carefully, and sealed it in the envelope. Eventually she would find it. I only hoped she would understand, and listen to me just this once.

And then I carefully sealed away my heart.


	22. Hide-and-Seek

22\. Hide-And-Seek

It had taken much less time than I'd thought — all the terror, the despair, the shattering of my heart. The minutes were ticking by more slowly than usual. Finn still hadn't come back when I returned to Flame. I was afraid to be in the same room with her, afraid that she would guess… and afraid to hide from her for the same reason.

I would have thought I was far beyond the ability to be surprised, my thoughts tortured and unstable, but I _was_ surprised when I saw Flame bent over the desk, gripping the edge with two hands.

"Flame?"

She didn't react when I called her name, but her head was slowly rocking side to side, and I saw her face. Her eyes were blank, dazed… My thoughts flew to my mother. Was I already too late?

I hurried to her side, reaching out automatically to touch her hand.

"Flame!" Finn's voice whipped, and then he was right behind her, his hands curling over hers, loosening them from their grip on the table. Across the room, the door swung shut with a low click.

"What is it?" he demanded.

She turned her face away from me, into his chest. "Bonnie," she said.

"I'm right here," I replied.

Her head twisted around, her eyes locking on mine, their expression still strangely blank. I realized at once that she hadn't been speaking to me, she'd been answering Finn's question.

"What did you see?" I said — and there was no question in my flat, uncaring voice.

Finn looked at me sharply. I kept my expression vacant and waited. His eyes were confused as they flickered swiftly between Flame's face and mine, feeling the chaos… for I could guess what Flame had seen now.

I felt a tranquil atmosphere settle around me. I welcomed it, using it to keep my emotions disciplined, under control.

Flame, too, recovered herself.

"Nothing, really," she answered finally, her voice remarkably calm and convincing. "Just the same room as before."

She finally looked at me, her expression smooth and withdrawn. "Did you want breakfast?"

"No, I'll eat at the airport." I was very calm, too. I went to the bathroom to shower. Almost as if I were borrowing Finn's strange extra sense, I could feel Flame's wild — though well-concealed — desperation to have me out of the room, to be alone with Finn. So she could tell him that they were doing something wrong, that they were going to fail…

I got ready methodically, concentrating on each little task. I left my hair down, swirling around me, covering my face. The peaceful mood Finn created worked its way through me and helped me think clearly. Helped me plan. I dug through my bag until I found my sock full of money. I emptied it into my pocket.

I was anxious to get to the airport, and glad when we left by seven. I sat alone this time in the back of the dark car. Flame leaned against the door, her face toward Finn but, behind her sunglasses, shooting glances in my direction every few seconds.

"Flame?" I asked indifferently.

She was wary. "Yes?"

"How does it work? The things that you see?" I stared out the side window, and my voice sounded bored. "Marceline said it wasn't definite… that things change?" It was harder than I would have thought to say her name. That must have been what alerted Finn, why a fresh wave of serenity filled the car.

"Yes, things change…" she murmured — hopefully, I thought. "Some things are more certain than others… like the weather. People are harder. I only see the course they're on while they're on it. Once they change their minds — make a new decision, no matter how small — the whole future shifts."

I nodded thoughtfully. "So you couldn't see Simon in Phoenix until he decided to come here."

"Yes," she agreed, wary again.

And she hadn't seen me in the mirror room with Simon until I'd made the decision to meet him there. I tried not to think about what else she might have seen. I didn't want my panic to make Finn more suspicious. They would be watching me twice as carefully now, anyway, after Flame's vision. This was going to be impossible.

We got to the airport. Luck was with me, or maybe it was just good odds. Marceline's plane was landing in terminal four, the largest terminal, where most flights landed — so it wasn't surprising that his was. But it was the terminal I needed: the biggest, the most confusing. And there was a door on level three that might be the only chance.

We parked on the fourth floor of the huge garage. I led the way, for once more knowledgeable about my surroundings than they were. We took the elevator down to level three where the passengers unloaded. Flame and Finn spent a long time looking at the departing flights board. I could hear them discussing the pros and cons of New York, Atlanta, Chicago. Places I'd never seen. And would never see.

I waited for my opportunity, impatient, unable to stop my toe from tapping. We sat in the long rows of chairs by the metal detectors, Finn and Flame pretending to people-watch but really watching me. Every inch I shifted in my seat was followed by a quick glance out of the corner of their eyes. It was hopeless. Should I run? Would they dare to stop me physically in this public place? Or would they simply follow?

I pulled the unmarked envelope out of my pocket and set it on top of Flame's black leather bag. She looked at me.

"My letter," I said. She nodded, tucking it under the top flap. She would find it soon enough.

The minutes passed and Marceline's arrival grew closer. It was amazing how every cell in my body seemed to know she was coming, to long for her coming. That made it very hard. I found myself trying to think of excuses to stay, to see her first and then make my escape. But I knew that was impossible if I was going to have any chance to get away.

Several times Flame offered to go _get_ breakfast with me. Later, I told her, not yet.

I stared at the arrival board, watching as flight after flight arrived on time. The flight from Seattle crept closer to the top of the board.

And then, when I had only thirty minutes to make my escape, the numbers changed. Her plane was ten minutes early. I had no more time.

"I think I'll eat now," I said quickly.

Flame stood. "I'll come with you."

"Do you mind if Finn comes instead?" I asked. "I'm feeling a little…" I didn't finish the sentence. My eyes were wild enough to convey what I didn't say.

Finn stood up. Flame's eyes were confused, but — I saw to my relief— not suspicious. She must be attributing the change in her vision to some maneuver of the tracker's rather than a betrayal by me.

Finn walked silently beside me, his hand on the small of my back, as if he were guiding me. I pretended a lack of interest in the first few airport cafes, my head scanning for what I really wanted. And there it was, around the corner, out of Flame's sharp sight: the level-three ladies' room.

"Do you mind?" I asked Finn as we passed. "I'll just be a moment."

"I'll be right here," he said.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I was running. I remembered the time I had gotten lost from this bathroom, because it had two exits.

Outside the far door it was only a short sprint to the elevators, and if Finn stayed where he said he would, I'd never be in his line of sight. I didn't look behind me as I ran. This was my only chance, and even if he saw me, I had to keep going. People stared, but I ignored them. Around the corner the elevators were waiting, and I dashed forward, throwing my hand between the closing doors of a full elevator headed down. I squeezed in beside the irritated passengers, and checked to make sure that the button for level one had been pushed. It was already lit, and the doors closed.

As soon as the door opened I was off again, to the sound of annoyed murmurs behind me. I slowed myself as I passed the security guards by the luggage carousels, only to break into a run again as the exit doors came into view. I had no way of knowing if Finn was looking for me yet.

I would have only seconds if he was following my scent. I jumped out the automatic doors, nearly smacking into the glass when they opened too slowly.

Along the crowded curb there wasn't a cab in sight.

I had no time. Flame and Finn were either about to realize I was gone, or they already had. They would find me in a heartbeat.

A shuttle to the Hyatt was just closing its doors a few feet behind me.

"Wait!" I called, running, waving at the driver.

"This is the shuttle to the Hyatt," the driver said in confusion as he opened the doors.

"Yes," I huffed, "that's where I'm going." I hurried up the steps.

He looked askance at my luggage-less state, but then shrugged, not caring enough to ask.

Most of the seats were empty. I sat as far from the other travelers as possible, and watched out the window as first the sidewalk, and then the airport, drifted away. I couldn't help imagining Marceline, where he would stand at the edge of the road when he found the end of my trail. I couldn't cry yet, I told myself. I still had a long way to go.

My luck held. In front of the Hyatt, a tired-looking couple was getting their last suitcase out of the trunk of a cab. I jumped out of the shuttle and ran to the cab, sliding into the seat behind the driver. The tired couple and the shuttle driver stared at me.

I told the surprised cabbie my mother's address. "I need to get there as soon as possible."

"That's in Scottsdale" he complained.

I threw four twenties over the seat.

"Will that be enough?"

"Sure, kid, no problem."

I sat back against the seat, folding my arms across my lap. The familiar city began to rush around me, but I didn't look out the windows. I exerted myself to maintain control. I was determined not to lose myself at this point, now that my plan was successfully completed. There was no point in indulging in more terror, more anxiety. My path was set. I just had to follow it now.

So, instead of panicking, I closed my eyes and spent the twenty minutes' drive with Marceline.

I imagined that I had stayed at the airport to meet Marceline. I visualized how I would stand on my toes, the sooner to see her face. How quickly, how gracefully she would move through the crowds of people separating us. And then I would run to close those last few feet between us — reckless as always — and I would be in her marble arms, finally safe.

I wondered where we would have gone. North somewhere, so she could be outside in the day. Or maybe somewhere very remote, so we could lay in the sun together again. I imagined her by the shore, her skin sparkling like the sea. It wouldn't matter how long we had to hide. To be trapped in a hotel room with her would be a kind of heaven. So many questions I still had for her. I could talk to her forever, never sleeping, never leaving her side.

I could see her face so clearly now… almost hear hre voice. And, despite all the horror and hopelessness, I was fleetingly happy. So involved was I in my escapist daydreams, I lost all track of the seconds racing by.

"Hey, what was the number?"

The cabbie's question punctured my fantasy, letting all the colors run out of my lovely delusions. Fear, bleak and hard, was waiting to fill the empty space they left behind.

"Fifty-eight twenty-one." My voice sounded strangled. The cabbie looked at me, nervous that I was having an episode or something.

"Here we are, then." He was anxious to get me out of his car, probably hoping I wouldn't ask for my change.

"Thank you," I whispered. There was no need to be afraid, I reminded myself. The house was empty. I had to hurry; my mom was waiting for me, frightened, depending on me.

I ran to the door, reaching up automatically to grab the key under the eave. I unlocked the door. It was dark inside, empty, normal. I ran to the phone, turning on the kitchen light on my way. There, on the whiteboard, was a ten-digit number written in a small, neat hand. My fingers stumbled over the keypad, making mistakes. I had to hang up and start again. I concentrated only on the buttons this time, carefully pressing each one in turn. I was successful. I held the phone to my ear with a shaking hand. It rang only once.

"Hello, Bonnie," that easy voice answered. "That was very quick. I'm impressed."

"Is my mom all right?"

"She's perfectly fine. Don't worry, Bonnie, I have no quarrel with her. Unless you didn't come alone, of course." Light, amused.

"I'm alone." I'd never been more alone in my entire life.

"Very good. Now, do you know the ballet studio just around the corner from your home?"

"Yes. I know how to get there."

"Well, then, I'll see you very soon."

I hung up.

I ran from the room, through the door, out into the baking heat.

There was no time to look back at my house, and I didn't want to see it as it was now — empty, a symbol of fear instead of sanctuary. The last person to walk through those familiar rooms was my enemy.

From the corner of my eye, I could almost see my mother standing in the shade of the big eucalyptus tree where I'd played as a child. Or kneeling by the little plot of dirt around the mailbox, the cemetery of all the flowers she'd tried to grow. The memories were better than any reality I would see today. But I raced away from them, toward the corner, leaving everything behind me.

I felt so slow, like I was running through wet sand — I couldn't seem to get enough purchase from the concrete. I tripped several times, once falling, catching myself with my hands, scraping them on the sidewalk, and then lurching up to plunge forward again. But at last I made it to the corner. Just another street now; I ran, sweat pouring down my face, gasping. The sun was hot on my skin, too bright as it bounced off the white concrete and blinded me. I felt dangerously exposed. More fiercely than I would have dreamed I was capable of, I wished for the green, protective forests of Forks… of home.

When I rounded the last corner, onto Cactus, I could see the studio, looking just as I remembered it. The parking lot in front was empty, the vertical blinds in all the windows drawn. I couldn't run anymore

— I couldn't breathe; exertion and fear had gotten the best of me. I thought of my mother to keep my feet moving, one in front of the other.

As I got closer, I could see the sign inside the door. It was handwritten on hot pink paper; it said the dance studio was closed for spring break. I touched the handle, tugged on it cautiously. It was unlocked. I fought to catch my breath, and opened the door.

The lobby was dark and empty, cool, the air conditioner thrumming. The plastic molded chairs were stacked along the walls, and the carpet smelled like shampoo. The west dance floor was dark, I could see through the open viewing window. The east dance floor, the bigger room, was lit. But the blinds were closed on the window.

Terror seized me so strongly that I was literally trapped by it. I couldn't make my feet move forward.

And then my mother's voice called.

"Bonnie? Bonnie?" That same tone of hysterical panic. I sprinted to the door, to the sound of her voice.

"Bonnie, you scared me! Don't you ever do that to me again!" Her voice continued as I ran into the long, high-ceilinged room.

I stared around me, trying to find where her voice was coming from. I heard her laugh, and I whirled to the sound.

There she was, on the TV screen, tousling my hair in relief. It was Thanksgiving, and I was twelve. We'd gone to see my grandmother in California, the last year before she died. We went to the beach one day, and I'd leaned too far over the edge of the pier. She'd seen my feet flailing, trying to reclaim my balance. "Bonnie? Bonnie?" she'd called to me in fear. And then the TV screen was blue.

I turned slowly. He was standing very still by the back exit, so still I hadn't noticed him at first. In his hand was a remote control. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then he smiled. He walked toward me, quite close, and then passed me to put the remote down next to the VCR. I turned carefully to watch him.

"Sorry about that, Bonnie, but isn't it better that your mother didn't really have to be involved in all this?" His voice was courteous, kind. And suddenly it hit me. My mother was safe. She was still in Florida. She'd never gotten my message. She'd never been terrified by the dark red eyes in the abnormally pale face before me. She was safe.

"Yes," I answered, my voice saturated with relief.

"You don't sound angry that I tricked you."

"I'm not." My sudden high made me brave. What did it matter now? It would soon be over. Gummy and Mom would never be harmed, would never have to fear. I felt almost giddy. Some analytical part of my mind warned me that I was dangerously close to snapping from the stress.

"How odd. You really mean it." His dark eyes assessed me with interest. The irises were nearly black, just a hint of ruby around the edges. Thirsty. "I will give your strange coven this much, you humans can be quite interesting. I guess I can see the draw of observing you. It's amazing — some of you seem to have no sense of your own self-interest at all."

He was standing a few feet away from me, arms folded, looking at me curiously. There was no menace in his face or stance. He was so very average-looking, nothing remarkable about his face or body at all. Just the white skin, the circled eyes I'd grown so used to. He wore a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt and faded blue jeans.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that your girlfriend will avenge you?" he asked, hopefully it seemed to me.

"No, I don't think so. At least, I asked her not to."

"And what was her reply to that?"

"I don't know." It was strangely easy to converse with this genteel hunter. "I left her a letter."

"How romantic, a last letter. And do you think she will honor it?" His voice was just a little harder now, a hint of sarcasm marring his polite tone.

"I hope so."

"Hmmm. Well, our hopes differ then. You see, this was all just a little too easy, too quick. To be quite honest, I'm disappointed. I expected a much greater challenge. And, after all, I only needed a little luck." I waited in silence.

"When Victoria couldn't get to your father, I had her find out more about you. There was no sense in running all over the planet chasing you down when I could comfortably wait for you in a place of my choosing. So, after I talked to Victoria, I decided to come to Phoenix to pay your mother a visit. I'd heard you say you were going home. At first, I never dreamed you meant it. But then I wondered. Humans can be very predictable; they like to be somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. And wouldn't it be the perfect ploy, to go to the last place you should be when you're hiding — the place that you said you'd be.

"But of course I wasn't sure, it was just a hunch. I usually get a feeling about the prey that I'm hunting, a sixth sense, if you will. I listened to your message when I got to your mother's house, but of course I couldn't be sure where you'd called from. It was very useful to have your number, but you could have been in Antarctica for all I knew, and the game wouldn't work unless you were close by.

"Then your Girlfriend got on a plane to Phoenix .Victoria was monitoring them for me, naturally; in a game with this many players, I couldn't be working alone. And so they told me what I'd hoped, that you were here after all. I was prepared; I'd already been through your charming home movies. And then it was simply a matter of the bluff.

"Very easy, you know, not really up to my standards. So, you see, I'm hoping you're wrong about your girlfriend. Marceline, isn't it?"

I didn't answer. The bravado was wearing off. I sensed that he was coming to the end of his gloat. It wasn't meant for me anyway. There was no glory in beating me, a weak human.

"Would you mind, very much, if I left a little letter of my own for your Marceline?"

He took a step back and touched a palm-sized digital video camera balanced carefully on top of the stereo. A small red light indicated that it was already running. He adjusted it a few times, widened the frame. I stared at him in horror.

"I'm sorry, but I just don't think she'll be able to resist hunting me after she watches this. And I wouldn't want her to miss anything. It was all for her, of course. You're simply a human, who unfortunately was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and indisputably running with the wrong crowd, I might add."

He stepped toward me, smiling. "Before we begin…"

I felt a curl of nausea in the pit of my stomach as he spoke. This was something I had not anticipated.

"I would just like to rub it in, just a little bit. The answer was there all along, and I was so afraid Marceline would see that and ruin my fun. It happened once, oh, ages ago. The one and only time my prey escaped me.

"You see, the vampire who was so stupidly fond of this little victim made the choice that your Marceline was too weak to make. When the old one knew I was after his little friend, he stole her from the asylum where he worked — I _never_ will understand the obsession some vampires seem to form with you humans — and as soon as he freed her he made her safe. She didn't even seem to notice the pain, poor little creature. She'd been stuck in that black hole of a cell for so long. A hundred years earlier and she would have been burned at the stake for her visions. In the nineteen-twenties it was the asylum and the shock treatments. When she opened her eyes, strong with her fresh youth, it was like she'd never seen the sun before. The old vampire made her a strong new vampire, and there was no reason for me to touch her then." He sighed. "I destroyed the old one in vengeance."

"Flame," I breathed, astonished.

"Yes, your little friend. I _was_ surprised to see her in the clearing. So I guess her coven ought to be able to derive some comfort from this experience. I get you, but they get her. The one victim who escaped me, quite an honor, actually.

"And she did smell so delicious. I still regret that I never got to taste… She smelled even better than you do. Sorry — I don't mean to be offensive. You have a very nice smell. Floral, somehow…"

He took another step toward me, till he was just inches away. He lifted a lock of my hair and sniffed at it delicately. Then he gently patted the strand back into place, and I felt his cool fingertips against my throat. He reached up to stroke my cheek once quickly with his thumb, his face curious. I wanted so badly to run, but I was frozen. I couldn't even flinch away.

"No," he murmured to himself as he dropped his hand, "I don't understand." He sighed. "Well, I suppose we should get on with it. And then I can call your friends and tell them where to find you, and my little message."

I was definitely sick now. There was pain coming, I could see it in his eyes. It wouldn't be enough for him to win, to feed and go. There would be no quick end like I'd been counting on. My knees began to shake, and I was afraid I was going to fall.

He stepped back, and began to circle, casually, as if he were trying to get a better view of a statue in a museum. His face was still open and friendly as he decided where to start.

Then he slumped forward, into a crouch I recognized, and his pleasant smile slowly widened, grew, till it wasn't a smile at all but a contortion of teeth, exposed and glistening.

I couldn't help myself— I tried to run. As useless as I knew it would be, as weak as my knees already were, panic took over and I bolted for the emergency door.

He was in front of me in a flash. I didn't see if he used his hand or his foot, it was too fast. A crushing blow struck my chest — I felt myself flying backward, and then heard the crunch as my head bashed into the mirrors. The glass buckled, some of the pieces shattering and splintering on the floor beside me.

I was too stunned to feel the pain. I couldn't breathe yet.

He walked toward me slowly.

"That's a very nice effect," he said, examining the mess of glass, his voice friendly again. "I thought this room would be visually dramatic for my little film. That's why I picked this place to meet you. It's perfect, isn't it?"

I ignored him, scrambling on my hands and knees, crawling toward the other door.

He was over me at once, his foot stepping down hard on my leg. I heard the sickening snap before I felt it. But then I _did_ feel it, and I couldn't hold back my scream of agony. I twisted up to reach for my leg, and he was standing over me, smiling.

"Would you like to rethink your last request?" he asked pleasantly. His toe nudged my broken leg and I heard a piercing scream. With a shock, I realized it was mine.

"Wouldn't you rather have Marceline try to find me?" he prompted.

"No!" I croaked. "No, Marceline, don't—" And then something smashed into my face, throwing me back into the broken mirrors.

Over the pain of my leg, I felt the sharp rip across my scalp where the glass cut into it. And then the warm wetness began to spread through my hair with alarming speed. I could feel it soaking the shoulder of my shirt, hear it dripping on the wood below. The smell of it twisted my stomach.

Through the nausea and dizziness I saw something that gave me a sudden, final shred of hope. His eyes, merely intent before, now burned with an uncontrollable need. The blood — spreading crimson across my white shirt, pooling rapidly on the floor — was driving him mad with thirst. No matter his original intentions, he couldn't draw this out much longer.

Let it be quick now, was all I could hope as the flow of blood from my head sucked my consciousness away with it. My eyes were closing.

I heard, as if from underwater, the final growl of the hunter. I could see, through the long tunnels my eyes had become, his dark shape coming toward me. With my last effort, my hand instinctively raised to protect my face. My eyes closed, and I drifted.


	23. The Angel

23\. The Angel

As I drifted, I dreamed.

Where I floated, under the dark water, I heard the happiest sound my mind could conjure up — as beautiful, as uplifting, as it was ghastly. It was another snarl; a deeper, wilder roar that rang with fury.

I was brought back, almost to the surface, by a sharp pain slashing my upraised hand, but I couldn't find my way back far enough to open my eyes.

And then I knew I was dead.

Because, through the heavy water, I heard the sound of an angel calling my name, calling me to the only heaven I wanted.

"Oh no, Bonnie, no!" the angel's voice cried in horror.

Behind that longed-for sound was another noise — an awful tumult that my mind shied away from. A vicious bass growling, a shocking snapping sound, and a high keening, suddenly breaking off…

I tried to concentrate on the angel's voice instead.

"Bonnie, please! Bonnie, listen to me, please, please, Bonnie, please!" she begged.

Yes, I wanted to say. Anything. But I couldn't find my lips.

"Hudson!" the angel called, agony in her perfect voice. "Bonnie, Bonnie, no, oh please, no, no!" And the angel was sobbing tearless, broken sobs.

The angel shouldn't weep, it was wrong. I tried to find her, to tell her everything was fine, but the water was so deep, it was pressing on me, and I couldn't breathe.

There was a point of pressure against my head. It hurt. Then, as that pain broke through the darkness to me, other pains came, stronger pains. I cried out, gasping, breaking through the dark pool.

"Bonnie!" the angel cried.

"She's lost some blood, but the head wound isn't deep," a calm voice informed me. "Watch out for her leg, it's broken."

A howl of rage strangled on the angel's lips.

I felt a sharp stab in my side. This couldn't be heaven, could it? There was too much pain for that.

"Some ribs, too, I think," the methodical voice continued.

But the sharp pains were fading. There was a new pain, a scalding pain in my hand that was overshadowing everything else.

Someone was burning me.

"Marceline." I tried to tell her, but my voice was so heavy and slow. I couldn't understand myself.

"Bonnie, you're going to be fine. Can you hear me, Bonnie? I love you."

"Marceline," I tried again. My voice was a little clearer.

"Yes, I'm here."

"It hurts," I whimpered.

"I know, Bonnie, I know" — and then, away from me, anguished — "can't you do anything?"

"My bag, please… Hold your breath, Flame, it will help" Hudson promised.

"Flame?" I groaned.

"She's here, she knew where to find you."

"My hand hurts," I tried to tell her.

"I know, Bonnie. Hudson will give you something, it will stop."

"My hand is burning!" I screamed, finally breaking through the last of the darkness, my eyes fluttering open. I couldn't see her face, something dark and warm was clouding my eyes. Why couldn't they see the fire and put it out?

Her voice was frightened. "Bonnie?"

"The fire! Someone stop the fire!" I screamed as it burned me.

"Hudson! Her hand!"

"He bit her." Hudson's voice was no longer calm, it was appalled.

I heard Marceline catch her breath in horror.

"Marceline, you have to do it." It wasFlame 's voice, close by my head. Cool fingers brushed at the wetness in my eyes.

"No!" she bonowed.

"Flame," I moaned.

"There may be a chance" Hudson said.

"What?" Marceline begged.

"See if you can suck the venom back out. The wound is fairly clean." As Hudson spoke, I could feel more pressure on my head, something poking and pulling at my scalp. The pain of it was lost in the pain of the fire.

"Will that work?" Flame's voice was strained.

"I don't know" Hudson said. "But we have to hurry."

"Hudson, I…" Marceline hesitated. "I don't know if I can do that." There was agony in her beautiful voice again.

"It's your decision, Marceline, either way. I can't help you. I have to get this bleeding stopped here if you're going to be taking blood from her hand."

I writhed in the grip of the fiery torture, the movement making the pain in my leg flare sickeningly.

"Marceline!" I screamed. I realized my eyes were closed again. I opened them, desperate to find her face. And I found her. Finally, I could see her perfect face, staring at me, twisted into a mask of indecision and pain.

"Flame, get me something to brace her leg!" Hudson was bent over me, working on my head. "Marceline, you must do it now, or it will be too late."

Marceline's face was drawn. I watched her eyes as the doubt was suddenly replaced with a blazing determination. Her jaw tightened. I felt her cool, strong fingers on my burning hand, locking it in place. Then her head bent over it, and her cold lips pressed against my skin.

At first the pain was worse. I screamed and thrashed against the cool hands that held me back. I heard Flame's voice, trying to calm me. Something heavy held my leg to the floor, and Hudson had my head locked in the vise of his stone arms.

Then, slowly, my writhing calmed as my hand grew more and more numb. The fire was dulling, focusing into an ever-smaller point.

I felt my consciousness slipping as the pain subsided. I was afraid to fall into the black waters again, afraid I would lose him in the darkness.

"Marceline," I tried to say, but I couldn't hear my voice. They could hear me.

"She's right here, Bonnie."

"Stay, Marceline, stay with me…"

"I will." Her voice was strained, but somehow triumphant.

I sighed contentedly. The fire was gone, the other pains dulled by a sleepiness seeping through my body.

"Is it all out?" Hudson asked from somewhere far away.

"Her blood tastes clean," Marceline said quietly. "I can taste the morphine."

"Bonnie?" Hudson called to me.

I tried to answer. "Mmmmm?"

"Is the fire gone?"

"Yes," I sighed. "Thank you, Marceline."

"I love you," she answered.

"I know," I breathed, so tired.

I heard my favorite sound in the world: Marceline's quiet laugh, weak with relief.

"Bonnie?" Hudson asked again.

I frowned; I wanted to sleep. "What?"

"Where is your mother?"

"In Florida" I sighed. "He tricked me, Marceline. He watched our videos." The outrage in my voice was pitifully frail. But that reminded me.

"Flame." I tried to open my eyes. "Flame, the video — he knew you, Flame, he knew where you came from." I meant to speak urgently, but my voice was feeble. "I smell gasoline," I added, surprised through the haze in my brain.

"It's time to move her" Hudson said.

"No, I want to sleep," I complained.

"You can sleep, sweetheart, I'll carry you," Marceline soothed me.

And I was in his arms, cradled against his chest — floating, all the pain gone.

"Sleep now, Bonnie" were the last words I heard.


	24. An Impasse

24\. An Impasse

My eyes opened to a bright, white light. I was in an unfamiliar room, a white room. The wall beside me was covered in long vertical blinds; over my head, the glaring lights blinded me. I was propped up on a hard, uneven bed — a bed with rails. The pillows were flat and lumpy. There was an annoying beeping sound somewhere close by. I hoped that meant I was still alive. Death shouldn't be this uncomfortable.

My hands were all twisted up with clear tubes, and something was taped across my face, under my nose. I lifted my hand to rip it off.

"No, you don't." And cool fingers caught my hand.

"Marceline?" I turned my head slightly, and her exquisite face was just inches from mine, her chin resting on the edge of my pillow. I realized again that I was alive, this time with gratitude and elation. "Oh, Marceline, I'm so sorry!"

"Shhhh," she shushed me. "Everything's all right now."

"What happened?" I couldn't remember clearly, and my mind re-boned against me as I tried to recall.

"I was almost too late. I could have been too late," she whispered, her voice tormented.

"I was so stupid, Marceline. I thought he had my mom."

"She tricked us all."

"I need to call Gummy and my mom," I realized through the haze.

"Flame called them. Bubble is here — well, here in the hospital. She's getting something to eat right now."

"She's here?" I tried to sit up, but the spinning in my head accelerated, and her hand pushed me gently down onto the pillows.

"She'll be back soon," she promised. "And you need to stay still."

"But what did you tell her?" I panicked. I had no interest in being soothed. My mom was here and _I_ was recovering from a vampire attack. "Why did you tell her I'm here?"

"You fell down two flights of stairs and through a window." She paused. "You have to admit, it could happen."

I sighed, and it hurt. I stared down at my body under the sheet, the huge lump that was my leg.

"How bad am I?" I asked.

"You have a broken leg, four broken ribs, some cracks in your skull, bruises covering every inch of your skin, and you've lost a lot of blood. They gave you a few transfusions. I didn't like it — it made you smell all wrong for a while."

"That must have been a nice change for you."

"No, I like how _you_ smell."

"How did you do it?" I asked quietly. She knew what I meant at once.

"I'm not sure." She looked away from my wondering eyes, lifting my gauze-wrapped hand from the bed and holding it gently in her, careful not to disrupt the wire connecting me to one of the monitors.

I waited patiently for the rest.

She sighed without returning my gaze. "It was impossible… to stop," she whispered. "Impossible. But I did." She looked up finally, with half a smile. "I _must_ love you."

"Don't I taste as good as I smell?" I smiled in response. That hurt my face.

"Even better — better than I'd imagined."

"I'm sorry," I apologized.

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Of all the things to apologize for."

"What _should I_ apologize for?"

"For very nearly taking yourself away from me forever."

"I'm sorry," I apologized again.

"I know why you did it." Her voice was comforting. "It was still irrational, of course. You should have waited for me, you should have told me."

"You wouldn't have let me go."

"No," she agreed in a grim tone "I wouldn't."

Some very unpleasant memories were beginning to come back to me. I shuddered, and then winced. She was instantly anxious. "Bonnie, what's wrong?"

"What happened to Simon?"

"After I pulled him off you, Jake and Finn took care of him." There was a fierce note of regret in her voice.

This confused me. "I didn't see Jake and Finn there."

"They had to leave the room… there was a lot of blood."

"But you stayed."

"Yes, I stayed."

"And Flame, and Hudson …" I said in wonder. "They love you, too, you know."

A flash of painful images from the last time I'd seen Flame reminded me of something. "Did Flame see the tape?" I asked anxiously.

"Yes." A new sound darkened her voice, a tone of sheer hatred. "She was always in the dark, that's why she didn't remember."

"I know. She understands now." Her voice was even, but her face was black with fury.

I tried to reach her face with my free hand, but something stopped me. I glanced down to see the IV pulling at my hand.

"Ugh." I winced.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously — distracted, but not enough. The bleakness did not entirely leave her eyes.

"Needles," I explained, looking away from the one in my hand. I concentrated on a warped ceiling tile and tried to breathe deeply despite the ache in my ribs.

"Afraid of a needle," she muttered to herself under her breath, shaking her head. "Oh, a sadistic vampire, intent on torturing her to death, sure, no problem, she runs off to meet him. An _IV_ , on the other hand…"

I rolled my eyes. I was pleased to discover that this reaction, at least, was pain-free. I decided to change the subject.

"Why are _you_ here?" I asked.

She stared at me, first confusion and then hurt touching her eyes. Her brows pulled together as she frowned. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" I protested, horrified by the thought. "No, I meant, why does my mother think you're here? I need to have my story straight before she gets back."

"Oh," she said, and her forehead smoothed back into marble. "I came to Phoenix to talk some sense into you, to convince you to come back to Forks." Her wide eyes were so earnest and sincere, I almost believed her myself. "You agreed to see me, and you drove out to the hotel where I was staying with Hudson and Flame — of course I was here with parental supervision," she inserted virtuously, "but you tripped on the stairs on the way to my room and… well, you know the rest. You don't need to remember any details, though; you have a good excuse to be a little muddled about the finer points."

I thought about it for a moment. "There are a few flaws with that story. Like no broken windows."

"Not really," she said. "Flame had a little bit too much fun fabricating evidence. It's all been taken care of very convincingly — you could probably sue the hotel if you wanted to. You have nothing to worry about," she promised, stroking my cheek with the lightest of touches. "Your only job now is to heal."

I wasn't so lost to the soreness or the fog of medication that I didn't respond to her touch. The beeping of the monitor jumped around erratically — now she wasn't the only one who could hear my heart misbehave.

"That's going to be embarrassing," I muttered to myself.

She chuckled, and a speculative look came into her eye. "Hmm, I wonder…"

She leaned in slowly; the beeping noise accelerated wildly before her lips even touched me. But when they did, though with the most gentle of pressure, the beeping stopped altogether.

She pulled back abruptly, her anxious expression turning to relief as the monitor reported the restarting of my heart.

"It seems that I'm going to have to be even more careful with you than usual." She frowned.

"I was not finished kissing you," I complained. "Don't make me come over there."

She grinned, and bent to press her lips lightly to mine. The monitor went wild.

But then her lips were taut. She pulled away.

"I think I hear your mother," she said, grinning again.

"Don't leave me," I cried, an irrational surge of panic flooding through me. I couldn't let her go — she might disappear from me again.

She read the terror in my eyes for a short second. "I won't," she promised solemnly, and then she smiled. "I'll take a nap."

She moved from the hard plastic chair by my side to the turquoise faux-leather recliner at the foot of my bed, leaning it all the way back, and closing her eyes. She was perfectly still.

"Don't forget to breathe," I whispered sarcastically. She took a deep breath, her eyes still closed.

I could hear my mother now. She was talking to someone, maybe a nurse, and she sounded tired and upset. I wanted to jump out of the bed and run to her, to calm her, promise that everything was fine. But I wasn't in any sort of shape for jumping, so I waited impatiently.

The door opened a crack, and she peeked through.

"Mom!" I whispered, my voice full of love and relief.

She took in Marceline's still form on the recliner, and tiptoed to my bedside.

"She never leaves, does she?" she mumbled to herself.

"Mom, I'm so glad to see you!"

She bent down to hug me gently, and I felt warm tears falling on my cheeks.

"Bonnie, I was so upset!"

"I'm sorry, Mom. But everything's fine now, it's okay," I comforted her.

"I'm just glad to finally see your eyes open." She sat on the edge of my bed.

I suddenly realized I didn't have any idea _when_ it was. "How long have they been closed?"

"It's Friday, hon, you've been out for a while."

"Friday?" I was shocked. I tried to remember what day it had been when… but I didn't want to think about that.

"They had to keep you sedated for a while, honey — you've got a lot of injuries."

"I know." I could feel them.

"You're lucky Dr. Abadeer was there. He's such a nice man… very young, though. And he looks more like a model than a doctor…"

"You met Hudson?"

"And Marceline's sister Flame. She's a lovely girl."

"She is," I agreed wholeheartedly.

She glanced over her shoulder at Marceline, lying with her eyes closed in the chair. "You didn't tell me you had such good friends in Forks." I cringed, and then moaned.

"What hurts?" she demanded anxiously, turning back to me. Marceline's eyes flashed to my face.

"It's fine," I assured them. "I just have to remember not to move." She lapsed back into her phony slumber.

I took advantage of my mother's momentary distraction to keep the subject from returning to my less-than-candid behavior. "Where's Gunter?" I asked quickly.

"Florida— oh, Bonnie! You'll never guess! Just when we were about to leave, the best news!"

"Gunter got signed?" I guessed.

"Yes! How did you guess! The Suns, can you believe it?"

"That's great, Mom," I said as enthusiastically as I could manage, though I had little idea what that meant.

"And you'll like Jacksonville so much," she gushed while I stared at her vacantly. "I was a little bit worried when Gunter started talking about Akron, what with the snow and everything, because you know how I hate the cold, but now Jacksonville! It's always sunny, and the humidity really isn't _that_ bad. We found the cutest house, yellow, with white trim, and a porch just like in an old movie, and this huge oak tree, and it's just a few minutes from the ocean, and you'll have your own bathroom —"

"Wait, Mom!" I interrupted. Marceline still had her eyes closed, but she looked too tense to pass as asleep. "What are you talking about? I'm not going to Florida. I live in Forks."

"But you don't have to anymore, silly," she laughed. "Gunter will be able to be around so much more now… we've talked about it a lot, and what I'm going to do is trade off on the away games, half the time with you, half the time with him."

"Mom." I hesitated, wondering how best to be diplomatic about this. "I _want_ to live in Forks. I'm already settled in at school, and I have a couple of girl friends" — she glanced toward Marceline again when I reminded her of friends, so I tried another direction — "and Gummy needs me. He's just all alone up there, and he can't cook _at all_."

"You want to stay in Forks?" she asked, bewildered. The idea was inconceivable to her. And then her eyes flickered back toward Marceline. "Why?"

"I told you — school, Gummy — ouch!" I'd shrugged. Not a good idea.

Her hands fluttered helplessly over me, trying to find a safe place to pat. She made do with my forehead; it was unbandaged.

"Bonnie, honey, you hate Forks," she reminded me.

"It's not so bad."

She frowned and looked back and forth between Marceline and me, this time very deliberately.

"Is it this girl?" she whispered interested.

I opened my mouth to lie, but her eyes were scrutinizing my face, and I knew she would see through that.

"She's part of it," I admitted. No need to confess how big a part. "So, have you had a chance to talk with Marceline?" I asked.

"Yes." She hesitated, looking at her perfectly still form. "And I want to talk to you about that."

Uh-oh. "What about?" I asked.

"I think that girl is in love with you," she accused, keeping her voice low.

"I think so, too," I confided.

"And how do you feel about her?" She only poorly concealed the raging curiosity in her voice.

I sighed, looking away. As much as I loved my mom, this was not a conversation I wanted to have with her. "I'm pretty crazy about her." There — that sounded like something a teenager with her first relationship might say.

"Well, she _seems_ very nice, and, my goodness, she's incredibly good-looking, but you're so young, Bonnie…" Her voice was unsure; as far as I could remember, this was the first time since I was eight that she'd come close to trying to sound like a parental authority. I recognized the reasonable-but-firm tone of voice from talks I'd had with her about relationships.

"I know that, Mom. Don't worry about it. It's just a crush," I soothed her.

"That's right," she agreed, easily pleased.

Then she sighed and glanced guiltily over her shoulder at the big, round clock on the wall.

"Do you need to go?"

She bit her lip. "Gunter's supposed to call in a little while… I didn't know you were going to wake up…"

"No problem, Mom." I tried to tone down the relief so she wouldn't get her feelings hurt. "I won't be alone."

"I'll be back soon. I've been sleeping here, you know," she announced, proud of herself.

"Oh, Mom, you don't have to do that! You can sleep at home — I'll never notice." The swirl of painkillers in my brain was making it hard to concentrate even now, though, apparently, I'd been sleeping for days.

"I was too nervous," she admitted sheepishly. "There's been some crime in the neighborhood, and I don't like being there alone."

"Crime?" I asked in alarm.

"Someone broke into that dance studio around the corner from the house and burned it to the ground — there's nothing left at all! And they left a stolen car right out front. Do you remember when you used to dance there, honey?"

"I remember." I shivered, and winced.

"I can stay, baby, if you need me."

"No, Mom, I'll be fine. Marceline will be with me."

She looked like that might be why she wanted to stay. "I'll be back tonight." It sounded as much like a warning as it sounded like a promise, and she glanced at Marceline again as she said it.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, Bonnie. Try to be more careful when you walk, honey, I don't want to lose you."

Marceline's eyes stayed closed, but a wide grin flashed across her face.

A nurse came bustling in then to check all my tubes and wires. My mother kissed my forehead, patted my gauze-wrapped hand, and left.

The nurse was checking the paper readout on my heart monitor.

"Are you feeling anxious, honey? Your heart rate got a little high there."

"I'm fine," I assured her.

"I'll tell your RN that you're awake. She'll be in to see you in a minute."

As soon as she closed the door, Marceline was at my side.

"You stole a car?" I raised my eyebrows.

She smiled, unrepentant. "It was a good car, very fast."

"How was your nap?" I asked.

"Interesting." Her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

She looked down while she answered. "I'm surprised. I thought Florida … and your mother…well, I thought that's what you would want."

I stared at her uncomprehendingly. "But you'd be stuck inside all day in Florida. You'd only be able to come out at night, just like a real vampire."

She almost smiled, but not quite. And then her face was grave. "I would stay in Forks, Bonnie. Or somewhere like it," she explained. "Someplace where I couldn't hurt you anymore."

It didn't sink in at first. I continued to stare at her blankly as the words one by one clicked into place in my head like a ghastly puzzle. I was barely conscious of the sound of my heart accelerating, though, as my breathing became hyperventilation, I _was_ aware of the sharp aching in my protesting ribs.

She didn't say anything; she watched my face warily as the pain that had nothing to do with broken bones, pain that was infinitely worse, threatened to crush me.

And then another nurse walked purposefully into the room. Marceline sat still as stone as she took in my expression with a practiced eye before turning to the monitors.

"Time for more pain meds, sweetheart?" she asked kindly, tapping the IV feed.

"No, no," I mumbled, trying to keep the agony out of my voice. "I don't need anything." I couldn't afford to close my eyes now.

"No need to be brave, honey. It's better if you don't get too stressed out; you need to rest." She waited, but I just shook my head.

"Okay," she sighed. "Hit the call button when you're ready."

She gave Marceline a stern look, and threw one more anxious glance at the machinery, before leaving.

Her cool hands were on my face; I stared at her with wild eyes.

"Shhh, Bonnie, calm down."

"Don't leave me," I begged in a broken voice.

"I won't," she promised. "Now relax before I call the nurse back to sedate you."

But my heart couldn't slow.

"Bonnie." She stroked my face anxiously. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here as long as you need me."

"Do you swear you won't leave me?" I whispered. I tried to control the gasping, at least. My ribs were throbbing.

She put her hands on either side of my face and brought her face close to mine. Her eyes were wide and serious. "I swear."

The smell of her breath was soothing. It seemed to ease the ache of my breathing. She continued to hold my gaze while my body slowly relaxed and the beeping returned to a normal pace. Her eyes were dark, closer to black than gold today.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes," I said cautiously.

She shook her head and muttered something unintelligible. I thought I picked out the word "overreaction."

"Why did you say that?" I whispered, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Are you tired of having to save me all the time? Do you _want_ me to go away?"

"No, I don't want to be without you, Bonnie, of course not. Be rational. And I have no problem with saving you, either — if it weren't for the fact that I was the one putting you in danger… that I'm the reason that you're here."

"Yes, you are the reason." I frowned. "The reason I'm here — _alive_."

"Barely." Her voice was just a whisper. "Covered in gauze and plaster and hardly able to move."

"I wasn't referring to my most recent near-death experience," I said, growing irritated. "I was thinking of the others — you can take your pick. If it weren't for you, I would be rotting away in the Forks cemetery." She winced at my words, but the haunted look didn't leave her eyes.

"That's not the worst part, though," she continued to whisper. She acted as if I hadn't spoken. "Not seeing you there on the floor… crumpled and broken." Her voice was choked. "Not thinking I was too late. Not even hearing you scream in pain — all those unbearable memories that I'll carry with me for the rest of eternity. No, the very worst was feeling… knowing that I couldn't stop. Believing that I was going to kill you myself."

"But you didn't."

"I could have. So easily."

I knew I needed to stay calm… but she was trying to talk herself into leaving me, and the panic fluttered in my lungs, trying to get out.

"Promise me," I whispered.

"What?"

"You know what." I was starting to get angry now. She was so stubbornly determined to dwell on the negative.

She heard the change in my tone. Her eyes tightened. "I don't seem to be strong enough to stay away from you, so I suppose that you'll get your way… whether it kills you or not," she added roughly.

"Good." She hadn't promised, though — a fact that I had not missed. The panic was only barely contained; I had no strength left to control the anger. "You told me how you stopped… now I want to know why," I demanded.

"Why?" she repeated warily.

" _Why_ you did it. Why didn't you just let the venom spread? By now I would be just like you."

Marceline's eyes seemed to turn flat black, and I remembered that this was something she'd never intended me to know. Flame must have been preoccupied by the things she'd learned about herself… or she'd been very careful with her thoughts around her — clearly, she'd had no idea that she'd filled me in on the mechanics of vampire conversions. She was surprised, and infuriated. Her nostrils flared, her mouth looked as if it was chiseled from stone. She wasn't going to answer, that much was clear.

"I'll be the first to admit that I have no experience with relationships," I said. "But it just seems logical… two in a couple have to be somewhat equal… as in, one of them can't always be swooping in and saving the other one. They have to save each other _equally_."

She folded her arms on the side of my bed and rested her chin on her arms. Her expression was smooth, the anger reined in. Evidently she'd decided she wasn't angry with _me_. I hoped I'd get a chance to warn Flame before she caught up with her.

"You _have_ saved me" she said quietly.

"I can't always be Lois Lane" I insisted. "I want to be Superman, too."

"You don't know what you're asking." Her voice was soft; she stared intently at the edge of the pillowcase.

"I think I do."

"Bonnie, you _don't_ know. I've had almost ninety years to think about this, and I'm still not sure."

"Do you wish that Hudson hadn't saved you?"

"No, I don't wish that." She paused before continuing. "But my life was over. I wasn't giving anything up."

"You _are_ my life. You're the only thing it would hurt me to lose." I was getting better at this. It was easy to admit how much I needed her.

She was very calm, though. Decided.

"I can't do it, Bonnie. I won't do that to you."

"Why not?" My throat rasped and the words weren't as loud as I'd meant them to be. "Don't tell me it's too hard! After today, or I guess it was a few days ago… anyway, after _that_ , it should be nothing."

She glared at me.

"And the pain?" she asked.

I blanched. I couldn't help it. But I tried to keep my expression from showing how clearly I remembered the feeling… the fire in my veins.

"That's my problem," I said. "I can handle it."

"It's possible to take bravery to the point where it becomes insanity."

"It's not an issue. Three days. Big deal."

Marceline grimaced again as my words reminded her that I was more informed than she had ever intended me to be. I watched her repress the anger, watched as her eyes grew speculative.

"Gummy?" she asked curtly. "Bubble?"

Minutes passed in silence as I struggled to answer her question. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I closed it again. She waited, and her expression became triumphant because she knew I had no true answer.

"Look, that's not an issue either," I finally muttered; my voice was as unconvincing as it always was when I lied. "Bubble has always made the choices that work for her — she'd want me to do the same. And Gummy's resilient, he's used to being on his own. I can't take care of them forever. I have my own life to live."

"Exactly," she snapped. "And I won't end it for you."

"If you're waiting for me to be on my deathbed, I've got news for you! I was just there!"

"You're going to recover," she reminded me.

I took a deep breath to calm myself, ignoring the spasm of pain it triggered. I stared at her, and she stared back. There was no compromise in her face.

"No," I said slowly. "I'm not."

Her forehead creased. "Of course you are. You may have a scar or two…"

"You're wrong," I insisted. "I'm going to die."

"Really, Bonnie." She was anxious now. "You'll be out of here in a few days. Two week at most."

I glared at her. "I may not die now… but I'm going to die sometime. Every minute of the day, I get closer. And I'm going to get _old_."

She frowned as what I was saying sunk in, pressing her long fingers to her temples and closing her eyes. "That's how it's supposed to happen. How it should happen. How it would have happened if I didn't exist— and _I shouldn't exist_."

I snorted. She opened her eyes in surprise. "That's stupid. That's like going to someone who's just won the lottery, taking their money, and saying, 'Look, let's just go back to how things should be. It's better that way.' And I'm not buying it."

"I'm hardly a lottery prize," she growled.

"That's right. You're much better."

She rolled her eyes and set her lips. "Bonnie, we're not having this discussion anymore. I refuse to damn you to an eternity of night and that's the end of it."

"If you think that's the end, then you don't know me very well," I warned her. "You're not the only vampire I know."

Her eyes went black again. "Flame wouldn't dare."

And for a moment she looked so frightening that I couldn't help but believe it — I couldn't imagine someone brave enough to cross her.

"Flame already saw it, didn't she?" I guessed. "That's why the things she says upset you. She knows I'm going to be like you… someday."

"She's wrong. She also saw you dead, but that didn't happen, either."

"You'll never catch _me_ betting against Flame."

We stared at each other for a very long time. It was quiet except for the whirring of the machines, the beeping, the dripping, the ticking of the big clock on the wall. Finally, her expression softened.

"So where does that leave us?" I wondered.

She chuckled humorlessly. "I believe it's called an _impasse_."

I sighed. "Ouch," I muttered.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, eyeing the button for the nurse.

"I'm fine," I lied.

"I don't believe you," she said gently.

"I'm not going back to sleep."

"You need rest. All this arguing isn't good for you."

"So give in," I hinted.

"Nice try." She reached for the button.

"No!"

She ignored me.

"Yes?" the speaker on the wall squawked.

"I think we're ready for more pain medication," she said calmly, ignoring my furious expression.

"I'll send in the nurse." The voice sounded very bored.

"I won't take it," I promised.

She looked toward the sack of fluids hanging beside my bed. "I don't think they're going to ask you to swallow anything."

My heart rate started to climb. She read the fear in my eyes, and sighed in frustration.

"Bonnie, you're in pain. You need to relax so you can heal. Why are you being so difficult? They're not going to put any more needles in you now."

"I'm not afraid of the needles," I mumbled. "I'm afraid to close my eyes."

Then she smiled her crooked smile, and took my face between her hands. "I told you I'm not going anywhere. Don't be afraid. As long as it makes you happy, I'll be here."

I smiled back, ignoring the ache in my cheeks. "You're talking about forever, you know."

"Oh, you'll get over it — it's just a crush."

I shook my head in disbelief— it made me dizzy. "I was shocked when Bubble swallowed that one. I know _you_ know better."

"That's the beautiful thing about being human," she told me. "Things change."

My eyes narrowed. "Don't hold your breath."

She was laughing when the nurse came in, brandishing a syringe.

"Excuse me," she said brusquely to Marceline.

She got up and crossed to the end of the small room, leaning against the wall. She folded her arms and waited. I kept my eyes on her, still apprehensive. She met my gaze calmly.

"Here you go, honey." The nurse smiled as she injected the medicine into my tube. "You'll feel better now."

"Thanks," I mumbled, unenthusiastic. It didn't take long. I could feel the drowsiness trickling through my bloodstream almost immediately.

"That ought to do it," she muttered as my eyelids drooped.

She must have left the room, because something cold and smooth touched my face.

"Stay." The word was slurred.

"I will," she promised. Her voice was beautiful, like a lullaby. "Like I said, as long as it makes you happy… as long as it's what's best for you."

I tried to shake my head, but it was too heavy. "'S not the same thing," I mumbled.

She laughed. "Don't worry about that now, Bonnie. You can argue with me when you wake up."

I think I smiled. '"Kay."

I could feel her lips at my ear.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Me, too."

"I know," she laughed quietly.

I turned my head slightly… searching. She knew what I was after. Her lips touched mine gently.

"Thanks," I sighed.

"Anytime."

I wasn't really there at all anymore. But I fought against the stupor weakly. There was just one more thing I wanted to tell her.

"Marceline?" I struggled to pronounce her name clearly.

"Yes?"

"I'm betting on Flame" I mumbled.

And then the night closed over me.


	25. Epilogue: An Occasion

25\. Epilogue: An Occasion

Marceline helped me into her car, being very careful of the wisps of silk and chiffon, the flowers she'd just pinned into my elaborately styled curls, and my bulky walking cast. She ignored the angry set of my mouth.

When she had me settled, she got in the driver's seat and headed back out the long, narrow drive.

"At what point exactly are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked grumpily. I really hated surprises. And she knew that.

"I'm shocked that you haven't figured it out yet." She threw a mocking smile in my direction, and my breath caught in my throat. Would I ever get used to her perfection?

"I did mention that you looked very nice, didn't I?" I verified.

"Yes." She grinned again. I'd never seen her dress in black before, and, with the contrast against her pale skin, her beauty was absolutely surreal. That much I couldn't deny, even if the fact that she was wearing a tight long dress made me very nervous.

Not quite as nervous as the dress. Or the shoe. Only one shoe, as my other foot was still securely encased in plaster. But the stiletto heel, held on only by satin ribbons, certainly wasn't going to help me as I tried to hobble around.

"I'm not coming over anymore if Flame is going to treat me like Guinea Pig Barbie when I do," I griped. I'd spent the better part of the day in Flame's staggeringly vast bathroom, a helpless victim as she played hairdresser and cosmetician. Whenever I fidgeted or complained, she reminded me that she didn't have any memories of being human, and asked me not to ruin her vicarious fun. Then she'd dressed me in the most ridiculous dress — deep blue, frilly and off the shoulders, with French tags I couldn't read — a dress more suitable for a runway than Forks. Nothing good could come of our formal attire, of that I was sure. Unless… but I was afraid to put my suspicions into words, even in my own head.

I was distracted then by the sound of a phone ringing. Marceline pulled her cell phone from a pocket inside her jacket, looking briefly at the caller ID before answering.

"Hello, Gummy," she said warily.

"Gummy?" I frowned.

Gummy had been… difficult since my return to Forks. He had compartmentalized my bad experience into two defined reactions. Toward Hudson he was almost worshipfully grateful. On the other hand, he was stubbornly convinced that Marceline was at fault — because, if not for her, I wouldn't have left home in the first place. And Marceline was far from disagreeing with her. These days I had rules that hadn't existed before: curfews… visiting hours.

Something Gummy was saying made Marceline's eyes widen in disbelief, and then a grin spread across her face.

"You're kidding!" She laughed.

"What is it?" I demanded.

She ignored me. "Why don't you let me talk to him?" Marceline suggested with evident pleasure. She waited for a few seconds.

"Hello, Cinnbun, this is Marceline Abadeer." Her voice was very friendly, on the surface. I knew it well enough to catch the soft edge of menace. What was Cinnbun doing at my house? The awful truth began to dawn on me. I looked again at the inappropriate dress Flame had forced me into.

"I'm sorry if there's been some kind of miscommunication, but Bonnie is unavailable tonight." Marceline's tone changed, and the threat in her voice was suddenly much more evident as she continued. "To be perfectly honest, she'll be unavailable every night, as far as anyone besides myself is concerned. No offense. And I'm sorry about your evening." She didn't sound sorry at all. And then she snapped the phone shut, a huge smirk on her face.

My face and neck flushed crimson with anger. I could feel the rage-induced tears starting to fill my eyes. She looked at me in surprise. "Was that last part a bit too much? I didn't mean to offend you."

I ignored that.

"You're taking me to _the prom_!" I yelled.

It was embarrassingly obvious now. If I'd been paying any attention at all, I'm sure I would have noticed the date on the posters that decorated the school buildings. But I'd never dreamed she was thinking of subjecting me to this. Didn't she know me at all?

She wasn't expecting the force of my reaction that was clear. She pressed her lips together and her eyes narrowed. "Don't be difficult, Bonnie."

My eyes flashed to the window; we were halfway to the school already.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I demanded in horror.

She gestured to her elegant dress. "Honestly, Bonnie, what did you think we were doing?"

I was mortified. First, because I'd missed the obvious. And also because the vague suspicions — expectations, really — that I'd been forming all day, as Flame tried to transform me into a beauty queen, were so far wide of the mark. My half-fearful hopes seemed very silly now.

I'd guessed there was some kind of occasion brewing. _But prom_! That was the furthest thing from my mind.

The angry tears rolled over my cheeks. I remembered with dismay that I was very uncharacteristically wearing mascara. I wiped quickly under my eyes to prevent any smudges. My hand was unblackened when I pulled it away; maybe Flame had known I would need waterproof makeup.

"This is completely ridiculous. Why are you crying?" she demanded in frustration.

"Because I'm _mad_!"

"Bonnie." She turned the full force of her scorching golden eyes on me.

"What?" I muttered, distracted.

"Humor me," she insisted.

Her eyes were melting all my fury. It was impossible to fight with her when she cheated like that. I gave in with poor grace.

"Fine," I pouted, unable to glare as effectively as I would have liked. "I'll go quietly. But you'll see. I'm way overdue for more bad luck. I'll probably break my other leg. Look at this shoe! It's a death trap!" I held out my good leg as evidence.

"Hmmm." She stared at my leg longer than was necessary. "Remind me to thank Flame for that tonight."

"Flame is going to be there?" That comforted me slightly.

"With Finn, and Jake… and Lady," she admitted.

The feeling of comfort disappeared. There had been no progress with Lady, though I was on quite good terms with her sometimes-husband. Jake enjoyed having me around — he thought my bizarre human reactions were hilarious… or maybe it was just the fact that I fell down a lot that he found so funny. Lady acted as if I didn't exist. While I shook my head to dispel the direction my thoughts had taken, I thought of something else.

"Is Gummy in on this?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Of course." She grinned, and then chuckled. "Apparently Cinnbun wasn't, though."

I gritted my teeth. How Cinnbun could be so delusional, I couldn't imagine. At school, where Gummy couldn't interfere, Marceline and I were inseparable — except for those rare sunny days.

We were at the school now; Lady's red convertible was conspicuous in the parking lot. The clouds were thin today, a few streaks of sunlight escaping through far away in the west.

She got out and walked around the car to open my door. She held out her hand.

I sat stubbornly in my seat, arms folded, feeling a secret twinge of smugness. The lot was crowded with people in formal dress: witnesses. She couldn't remove me forcibly from the car as she might have if we'd been alone.

She sighed. "When someone wants to kill you, you're brave as a lion — and then when someone mentions dancing…" She shook her head.

I gulped. Dancing.

"Bonnie, I won't let anything hurt you — not even yourself. I won't let go of you once, I promise."

I thought about that and suddenly felt much better. She could see that in my face.

"There, now," she said gently, "it won't be so bad." She leaned down and wrapped one arm around my waist. I took her other hand and let her lift me from the car.

She kept her arm tightly around me, supporting me as I limped toward the school.

In Phoenix, they held proms in hotel ballrooms. This dance was in the gym, of course. It was probably the only room in town big enough for a dance. When we got inside, I giggled. There were actual balloon arches and twisted garlands of pastel crepe paper festooning the walls.

"This looks like a horror movie waiting to happen," I snickered.

"Well," she muttered as we slowly approached the ticket table — she was carrying most of my weight, but I still had to shuffle and wobble my feet forward — "there are _more_ than enough vampires present."

I looked at the dance floor; a wide gap had formed in the center of the floor, where two couples whirled gracefully. The other dancers pressed to the sides of the room to give them space — no one wanted to stand in contrast with such radiance. Jake and Finn were intimidating and flawless in classic tuxedos. Flame was striking in a grey satin dress with geometric cutouts that bared large triangles of her snowy white skin. And Lady was… well, Lady. She was beyond belief. Her vivid scarlet dress was backless, tight to her calves where it flared into a wide ruffled train, with a neckline that plunged to her waist. I pitied every girl in the room, myself included.

"Do you want me to bolt the doors so you can massacre the unsuspecting townsfolk?" I whispered conspiratorially.

"And where do you fit into that scheme?" She glared.

"Oh, I'm with the vampires, of course."

She smiled reluctantly. "Anything to get out of dancing."

"Anything."

She bought our tickets, then turned me toward the dance floor. I cringed against her arm and dragged my feet.

"I've got all night," she warned.

Eventually she towed me out to where her family was twirling elegantly — if in a style totally unsuitable to the present time and music. I watched in horror.

"Marceline." My throat was so dry I could only manage a whisper. "I _honestly_ can't dance!" I could feel the panic bubbling up inside my chest.

"Don't worry, silly," she whispered back. "I _can_." She put my arms around her neck and lifted me to slide her feet under mine, over her heels.

And then we were whirling, too.

"I feel like I'm five years old," I laughed after a few minutes of effortless waltzing.

"You don't look five," she murmured, pulling me closer for a second, so that my _feet_ were briefly a foot from the ground.

Flame caught my eye on a turn and smiled in encouragement — I smiled back. I was surprised to realize that I was actually enjoying myself… a little.

"Okay, this isn't half bad," I admitted.

But Marceline was staring toward the doors, and her face was angry.

"What is it?" I wondered aloud. I followed her gaze, disoriented by the spinning, but finally I could see what was bothering him. BMO Black, not in a tux, but in a long-sleeved white shirt and tie, his hair smoothed back into his usual ponytail, was crossing the floor toward us.

After the first shock of recognition, I couldn't help but feel bad for BMO. He was clearly uncomfortable— excruciatingly so. His face was apologetic as his eyes met mine.

Marceline snarled very quietly.

" _Behave_!" I hissed.

Marceline's voice was scathing. "He wants to chat with you."

BMO reached us then, the embarrassment and apology even more evident on his face.

"Hey, Bonnie, I was hoping you would be here." BMO sounded like he'd been hoping the exact opposite. But his smile was just as warm as ever.

"Hi, BMO."I smiled back. "What's up?"

"Can I cut in?" he asked tentatively, glancing at Marceline for the first time. I was shocked to notice that BMO didn't have to look up. He must have grown half a foot since the first time I'd seen him.

Marceline's face was composed, her expression blank. Her only answer was to set me carefully on my feet, and take a step back.

"Thanks," BMO said amiably.

Marceline just nodded, looking at me intently before she turned to walk away.

BMO put his hands on my waist, and I reached up to put my hands on his shoulders.

"Wow, Jake, how tall are you now?"

He was smug. "Six-two."

We weren't really dancing — my leg made that impossible. Instead we swayed awkwardly from side to side without moving our feet. It was just as well; the recent growth spurt had left him looking gangly and uncoordinated, he was probably no better a dancer than I was.

"So, how did you end up here tonight?" I asked without true curiosity. Considering Marceline's reaction, I could guess.

"Can you believe my dad paid me twenty bucks to come to your prom?" he admitted, slightly ashamed.

"Yes, I can," I muttered. "Well, I hope you're enjoying yourself, at least. Seen anything you like?" I teased, nodding toward a group of girls lined up against the wall like pastel confections.

"Yeah," he sighed. "But she's taken."

He glanced down to meet my curious gaze for just a second — then we both looked away, embarrassed.

"You look really pretty, by the way," he added shyly.

"Um, thanks. So why did Hugwo pay you to come here?" I asked quickly, though I knew the answer.

BMO didn't seem grateful for the subject change; he looked away, uncomfortable again. "He said it was a 'safe' place to talk to you. I swear the old man is losing his mind." I joined in his laughter weakly.

"Anyway, he said that if I told you something, he would get me that master cylinder I need," he confessed with a sheepish grin.

"Tell me, then. I want you to get your car finished." I grinned back. At least BMO didn't believe any of this. It made the situation a bit easier. Against the wall, Marceline was watching my face, her own face expressionless. I saw a sophomore in a pink dress eyeing her with timid speculation, but she didn't seem to be aware of her.

BMO looked away again, ashamed. "Don't get mad, okay?"

"There's no way I'll be mad at you, BMO," I assured him. "I won't even be mad at Hugwo. Just say what you have to."

"Well — this is so stupid, I'm sorry, Bonnie — he wants you to break up with your boyfriend. He asked me to tell you 'please.'" He shook his head in disgust.

"He's still superstitious, eh?"

"Yeah. He was… kind of over the top when you got hurt down in Phoenix. He didn't believe…" BMO trailed off self-consciously.

My eyes narrowed. "I fell."

"I know that," BMO said quickly.

"He thinks Marceline had something to do with me getting hurt." It wasn't a question, and despite my promise, I was angry.

BMO wouldn't meet my eyes. We weren't even bothering to sway to the music, though his hands were still on my waist, and mine around his neck.

"Look, BMO, I know Hugwo probably won't believe this, but just so you know" — he looked at me now, responding to the new earnestness in my voice — "Marceline really did save my life. If it weren't for Marceline and her father, I'd be dead."

"I know," he claimed, but he sounded like my sincere words had affected him some. Maybe he'd be able to convince Hugwo of this much, at least.

"Hey, I'm sorry you had to come do this, BMO," I apologized. "At any rate, you get your parts, right?"

"Yeah," he muttered. He was still looking awkward… upset.

"There's more?" I asked in disbelief.

"Forget it," he mumbled, "I'll get a job and save the money myself."

I glared at him until he met my gaze. "Just spit it out, BMO."

"It's so bad."

"I don't care. Tell me," I insisted.

"Okay… but, geez, this sounds bad." He shook his head. "He said to tell you, no, to _warn_ you, that — and this is his plural, not mine" — he lifted one hand from my waist and made little quotations marks in the air — '"We'll be watching.'" He watched warily for my reaction.

It sounded like something from a mafia movie. I laughed out loud.

"Sorry you had to do this, Jake," I snickered.

"I don't mind _that_ much." He grinned in relief. His eyes were appraising as they raked quickly over my dress. "So, should I tell him you said to butt the hell out?" he asked hopefully.

"No," I sighed. "Tell him I said thanks. I know he means well."

The song ended, and I dropped my arms.

His hands hesitated at my waist, and he glanced at my bum leg. "Do you want to dance again? Or can I help you get somewhere?"

Marceline answered for me. "That's all right, BMO. I'll take it from here."

BMO flinched, and stared wide-eyed at Marceline, who stood just beside us.

"Hey, I didn't see you there," he mumbled. "I guess I'll see you around, Bonnie." He stepped back, waving halfheartedly.

I smiled. "Yeah, I'll see you later."

"Sorry," he said again before he turned for the door.

Marceline's arms wound around me as the next song started. It was a little up-tempo for slow dancing, but that didn't seem to concern her. I leaned my head against her, content.

"Feeling better?" I teased.

"Not really," she said tersely.

"Don't be mad at Hugwo," I sighed. "He just worries about me for Gummy's sake. It's nothing personal."

"I'm not mad at Hugwo," she corrected in a clipped voice. "But his son is irritating me."

I pulled back to look at her. Her face was very serious.

"Why?"

"First of all, he made me break my promise."

I stared at her in confusion.

She half-smiled. "I promised I wouldn't let go of you tonight," she explained.

"Oh. Well, I forgive you."

"Thanks. But there's something else." Marceline frowned.

I waited patiently.

"He called you _pretty_ " she finally continued, her frown deepening. "That's practically an insult, the way you look right now. You're much more than beautiful."

I laughed. "You might be a little biased."

"I don't think that's it. Besides, I have excellent eyesight."

We were twirling again, my feet on her as she held me close.

"So are you going to explain the reason for all of this?" I wondered.

She looked down at me, confused, and I glared meaningfully at the crepe paper.

She considered for a moment, and then changed direction, spinning me through the crowd to the back door of the gym. I caught a glimpse of Fiona and Marshall dancing, staring at me curiously. Fiona waved, and I smiled back quickly. HDP was there, too, looking blissfully happy in the arms of little Ben Cheney; she didn't look up from his eyes, a head lower than hers. Lee and Samantha, Lauren, glaring toward us, with Conner; I could name every face that spiraled past me. And then we were outdoors, in the cool, dim light of a fading sunset.

As soon as we were alone, she swung me up into her arms, and carried me across the dark grounds till she reached the bench beneath the shadow of the madrone trees. She sat there, keeping me cradled against her body. The moon was already up, visible through the gauzy clouds, and her face glowed pale in the white light. Her mouth was hard, her eyes troubled.

"The point?" I prompted softly.

She ignored me, staring up at the moon.

"Twilight, again," she murmured. "Another ending. No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end."

"Some things don't have to end," I muttered through my teeth, instantly tense.

She sighed.

"I brought you to the prom," she said slowly, finally answering my question, "because I don't want you to miss anything. I don't want my presence to take anything away from you, if I can help it. I want you to be _human_. I want your life to continue as it would have if I'd died in nineteen-eighteen like I should have."

I shuddered at her words, and then shook my head angrily. "In what strange parallel dimension would I _ever_ have gone to prom of my own free will? If you weren't a thousand times stronger than me, I wouldnever have let you get away with this."

She smiled briefly, but it didn't touch her eyes. "It wasn't so bad, you said so yourself."

"That's because I was with you."

We were quiet for a minute; she stared at the moon and I stared at her. I wished there was some way to explain how very uninterested I was in a normal human life.

"Will you tell me something?" she asked, glancing down at me with a slight smile.

"Don't I always?"

"Just promise you'll tell me," she insisted, grinning.

I knew I was going to regret this almost instantly. "Fine."

"You seemed honestly surprised when you figured out that I was taking you here," she began.

"I _was_ " I interjected.

"Exactly" she agreed. "But you must have had some other theory… I'm curious — what did you _think_ I was dressing you up for?"

Yes, instant regret. I pursed my lips, hesitating. "I don't want to tell you."

"You promised," she objected.

"I know."

"What's the problem?"

I knew she thought it was mere embarrassment holding me back. "I think it will make you mad — or sad."

Her brows pulled together over her eyes as he thought that through. "I still want to know. Please?"

I sighed. She waited.

"Well… I assumed it was some kind of… occasion. But I didn't think it would be some trite human thing… prom!" I scoffed.

"Human?" she asked flatly. She'd picked up on the key word.

I looked down at my dress, fidgeting with a stray piece of chiffon. She waited in silence.

"Okay," I confessed in a rush. "So I was hoping that you might have changed your mind… that you were going to change _me_ , after all."

A dozen emotions played across her face. Some I recognized: anger… pain… and then she seemed to collect herself and her expression became amused.

"You thought that would be a black tie occasion, did you?" she teased, touching the surface of her dress.

I scowled to hide my embarrassment. "I don't know how these things work. To me, at least, it seems more rational than prom does." She was still grinning. "It's not funny," I said.

"No, you're right, it's not," she agreed, her smile fading. "I'd rather treat it like a joke, though, than believe you're serious."

"But I am serious."

She sighed deeply. "I know. And you're really that willing?"

The pain was back in her eyes. I bit my lip and nodded.

"So ready for this to be the end," she murmured, almost to herself, "for this to be the twilight of your life, though your life has barely started. You're ready to give up everything."

"It's not the end, it's the beginning," I disagreed under my breath.

"I'm not worth it," she said sadly.

"Do you remember when you told me that I didn't see myself very clearly?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "You obviously have the same blindness."

"I know what I am."

I sighed.

But her mercurial mood shifted on me. She pursed her lips, and her eyes were probing. She examined my face for a long moment.

"You're ready now, then?" she asked.

"Um." I gulped. "Yes?"

She smiled, and inclined her head slowly until her cold lips brushed against the skin just under the corner of my jaw.

"Right now?" he whispered, her breath blowing cool on my neck. I shivered involuntarily.

"Yes," I whispered, so my voice wouldn't have a chance to break. If she thought I was bluffing, she was going to be disappointed. I'd already made this decision, and I was sure. It didn't matter that my body was rigid as a plank, my hands balled into fists, my breathing erratic…

She chuckled darkly, and leaned away. Her face did look disappointed.

"You can't really believe that I would give in so easily," she said with a sour edge to his mocking tone.

"A girl can dream."

Her eyebrows rose. "Is that what you dream about? Being a monster?"

"Not exactly," I said, frowning at her word choice. Monster, indeed. "Mostly I dream about being with you forever." Her expression changed, softened and saddened by the subtle ache in my voice.

"Bonnie." Her fingers lightly traced the shape of my lips. "I _will_ stay with you — isn't that enough?"

I smiled under her fingertips. "Enough for now."

She frowned at my tenacity. No one was going to surrender tonight. He exhaled, and the sound was practically a growl.

I touched her face. "Look," I said. "I love you more than everything else in the world combined. Isn't that enough?"

"Yes, it is enough," she answered, smiling. "Enough for forever."

And she leaned down to press her cold lips once more to my throat.


End file.
